*Be stirring as the time; be fire with fire. Threaten the threat'ner, and outface the brow Of bragging horror. So shall inferior eyes, That borrow their behaviors from the great, Grow great by your example and put on The dauntless spirit of resolution. William Shakespeare*

(...Immediately after Fractured Sanctuary)

Jim had to agree. "No one's at fault."

"Well, they've made their move." Packert held up his cell phone. "I think we should call for reinforcements. They'll try for Blair next."

Jim remembered his promise. "Not while I'm still breathing."

"We ain't doing so hot in that department, dude," Sam said, jerking a thumb at the closed door, where - in the room beyond - Buck consoled Blair. "They snatched his ma from under the doctors' noses."

There was no reply to that. The kid was right and Jim knew it, so he switched his glare to Packert. "You said something about a safe place?"

"We can be there by--"

A nearby cell phone played a jazzy song. Jim raised his hand for silence, cranking up his hearing in time to catch Blair's answer.

"Do I have your attention now, Mr. Sandburg?" a cultured voice asked.

"Shit!" Jim leapt for the closed door, nearly tearing it off its hinges.

Blair stood in a far corner holding a tiny cell phone to his ear. "Where is she?" He saw Jim and hunched a shoulder protectively, shielding the phone.

Jim charged forward, his hand outstretched. "Give it!"

Shaking his head, Blair turned away, speaking to the caller. "I'll do anything. Just let her go."

"Keep this cell close." The connection severed.

"Damn it, Sandburg!" Jim smacked the wall over Blair's head.

Blair shoved him away and hugged the phone fiercely to his chest. "Back off, man!"

Packert stepped up to Jim's side. "Blair, it's dangerous, they can track your location through that phone. You have to give it to us."

"Like hell," Blair answered, looking about, like a cornered wild animal. "Whatever they say, I'm doing it. I'm getting my mom back."

Buck's quiet warning came from behind Jim. "Easy, Ellison."

Jim curbed his anger. "We all want the same thing," Jim said, forcing his anger down.

Packert held out his hand, managing a strained smile. "Let us examine the phone, Blair."

"No!" Blair snapped.

Buck spoke over Jim's shoulder. "They're right, son. Let them help."

Blair hesitated several long seconds, chewing his lip as his gaze paced back and forth between the three men. Finally, he dropped the phone into Packert's palm.

The Captain nodded. "Thank you, we'll order a `trap and trace' right away. How about we go somewhere secure while we wait?"

Jim really liked that plan.

"If you take it apart, he can't call," Blair insisted, feeling the building pressure pinching the back of his eyeballs. He rubbed his forehead.

The cell phone face was off. An army technician worked at a small table. Packert stood watching, his arms crossed. "We know what we're doing. We'll make sure the phone keeps working."

"We still have a signal, right?" Blair asked.

"Yes, sir," the technician answered.

Blair eyed the small screwdriver and odd wires and computer parts with trepidation. He sighed and walked away. All he could see on that table was failure. Why had he let Jim talk him into coming here? They were two hours outside of Spokane, at the Fairchild Air Force base. They had traveled in a windowless van. Blair had only seen glimpses when the soldiers had hustled them inside. They'd been assigned a VIP quarters with guards. The long room had a kitchenette at the far end. It looked like someone had once attempted to make part of the room homey and welcoming with a circle of comfortable recliners, end tables and two sofas corralling a large coffee table.

"Sandburg," Jim said. "Come look at this."

Restless and frustrated, Blair flopped down on the drab sofa next to Jim. Copies of all the information the army had on Paraho International littered the coffee table. "Anything useful?"

Jim handed over a sheet. "This is what they have on the guy from the helicopter."

Blair scanned the report. He spotted a paragraph that held his interest. The monster had a name, Hamal Khan. "Middle Eastern?"

Jim flipped up a page. "He's half Pakistan and half Baloch, but born in the States."

Blair kept reading. The Army didn't know much. Khan was a graduate from an impressive eastern college that Blair could only dream of visiting, never having the money to attend. Khan's parents were deceased. He had no brothers or sisters. He had joined Paraho three years ago and had been spotted during exclusive power meetings between international CEOs.

Blair reached the end of the page and checked the blank back. "What did he do between school and joining Paraho? There's years missing."

"We don't know," Packert admitted, coming over to sit in a recliner. He rubbed his arm as if it bothered him. "Our information is sketchy."

Unwelcome memories took Blair back to that overgrown yard in front of the empty cabin. Bound up like an offering on the altar, he could clearly see the dark-skinned sentinel approach. His smug, superior smile...

No.

Blair shook his head. Resolved, he focused on the here and now. "We don't know any more than we knew before, man," Blair muttered, setting the paper aside and rubbing his forehead again. He was growing a killer headache and his empty stomach churned with acid.

"How about some sandwiches?" Jim asked, glancing up from his report at Packert. "Our last decent meal was yesterday."

The food arrived on putty-colored trays carried in by two guys with buzz cuts, neatly creased uniforms, and spit-shined boots. Each tray held cut sandwiches, pickle slices and macaroni salad. Blair found the precise utensils arrangement and the perfectly proportioned food depressing. Naomi would have ranted for an hour. She would have pointed out the evils of white bread for starters and gathered momentum from there.

Naomi.

He shouldn't have left her in that hospital.

Tears burned. Blair pushed his tray away.

"Chief...

"Not hungry, man." Blair picked up the paper on Khan and bent over it, pretending to read. He couldn't deal with Jim's over-protectiveness. "Drop it, okay?"

From across the room, a strangled ring sounded, followed by a loud pop.

Slapping the paper down and bounding off the sofa, Blair beat the others to the table. "What just happened?"

Raising his hands helplessly, the technician shook his head. "I don't know how, but they had it booby-trapped to self destruct--"

Blair slapped the table. "GREAT! Just great! What the hell are we supposed to do now?" He knocked Jim's hand from his shoulder. "No! Man, I listened to you! I let the army take over. I should have KNOWN better! I'm so out of here."

Pushing his way by Jim, Blair crossed the room and flung the door open to find two armed MPs. Their broad shoulders blocked his exit.

"Get out of my way," Blair growled.

"Mr. Sandburg, we can't allow you to leave," Packert explained evenly. Standing behind him, Sam muttered a low, "This sucks."

With a horrible, sinking feeling in his chest, Blair stared at Jim. "What's happening, man?"

Jim neared. "Blair, we need to talk."

"J-jim." Blair's voice shook with fear. What was happening? Why was Jim going along with these people? "What the hell, man?"

"Hey, trust me." Jim gently reached around and closed the door.

Blair heard the snick of the lock and shivered. He wanted out. He wanted the walls to stop pressing in. He wanted the lights to stop being so bright. He wanted the floor to stop moving.

"Whoa... Jim." Blair reached out.

Jim caught his arm. "Let's go in here."

`Here' turned out to be a tiny, adjacent room. It held a set of twin beds and a lamp on a bedstand. Jim guided Blair to the bed. He sat down on the other, facing him across the narrow space.

"Blair, first of all, we're not prisoners," Jim began.

"You could have fooled me," Blair said, hoping for snarky, but only pulling off scared.

"They're protecting us." Jim shook his head. "This has become a matter of national security. This Khan guy is connected with some heavy hitters. You and I - and Buck, for that matter - are witnesses."

"Jim," Blair snapped. "I just want Naomi back."

Grief flickered over Jim's face, doing more to scare Blair than the guards at the door.

"No. No!" Blair choked out, closing his eyes. "God, Jim, don't say it. She's still alive!"

"Sandburg, we have to hope for the best and prepare for the worst."

"No, g-get us the hell out of here!" Blair pounded the mattress. "I sweartogodman, if we let the Army do this, they'll screw it up. They will get her killed!"

"You don't know that. Yeah, they're heavy handed at times - ah! Hear me out before you judge - I've been in long enough to know. I know it looks bad, I know they screwed up with the cell phone, but we need their resources. Blair, we can't do this alone."

Blair closed his eyes. Pain pounded inside his skull. "There has to be another way. He only wants--"

"I know you want to trade yourself for your mom. But think about it. Why would he let her go? He'll just take you and kill her." Jim leaned forward and squeezed Blair's knee. "Sandburg, you're exhausted. I can see it, hear it, maybe even smell it. I know this is hard. You need to rest--"

Blair couldn't stand it anymore. "Jim, just stop it!"

Leaning back, Jim's eyebrows lifted. "What?"

God, where to start. "Man, you've been doing this for days."

"This?" Jim tilted his head.

Sighing heavily, Blair waved his good hand between them. "Yeah, man, this thing you do! You nag me about sleep, about eating, about staying down when stuff happens--"

"I'm just--"

Blair overrode his protest. "You won't let me out of your sight! You treat me like I'm five. You act like I'm going to break apart." Blair held up both hands, taking a deep breath. "Okay, okay. I'll admit I'm not exactly in top form right now, and I'm really sorry about that shit with the deer, but give me a freaking break. I'm still me. I'm fine. Enough with the mother bear act already." Blair added a scary afterthought, "Unless you don't trust--"

Jim's answer was immediate. "I trust you."

"Good." Blair leaned forward and latched on to Jim's forearms. "Then let's break out of here! We'll let them contact us. I know we can get Naomi back."

Jim rolled his eyes. "With what? Your Swiss army knife and my senses?"

"No man, with the same stuff we've always used. Everything and nothing." Blair swallowed before going on, suddenly unsure he could even ask this of Jim. "I know you don't... see eye to eye with her, man. But she's my mom."

Jim shut him down with a hard look. "Stop it. Don't even think for a single second that I wouldn't do everything in my power to save your mother. What I'm not going to do, is watch you sacrifice yourself when there's no hope of getting her back. Understood? That's my limit. Now, about that other thing..." Jim took a deep breath and actually blushed. "I'm sorry. I worry. I'll try to keep it under control. Maybe I need a big brother dial." He quirked a goofy grin.

Ah, shit and hell, Blair felt like a heel. He ducked his head. "Thank you," he whispered.

The bed sank as Jim switched sides and Blair leaned into the solid friendship of his Sentinel.

Buck looked at the closed door to Blair and Jim's temporary sleeping quarters and worried. Out in the common room, the technician worked fervently on the broken cell phone. Another had joined him. Packert and Sam read files. The sandwiches were gone except for two wrapped in plastic and stowed inside the refrigerator in the corner by the sink.

Finally, the door opened and Blair and Jim emerged, standing shoulder to shoulder "We have a proposition for the army," Jim said. "We'll help you get Khan. As long as the priority objective is safely retrieving Naomi Sandburg. Deal?"

Packert stood, ignoring the happy smirk on Sam's face. "We can work with that."

Blair crossed his arm, the cast making the movement awkward. "And bring us some sandwiches on wheat bread."

Buck smiled.

When Jim slept with his hearing on high, his sleep was light. Still, the steady cadence of Blair's breathing anchored his mind even away from home, giving him the ability to balance his rest with his need to listen. He was aware of the patrol jeeps within the base. He heard the quiet conversations of the guards on patrol. Their presence eased his troubled mind, told him that they were safe. Parts of him felt as if he'd come home.

The fact that Blair had stopped broadcasting grief and rejection did the most in helping Jim rest. Not that he blamed the kid. It was a natural reaction to losing his mother. Jim should have predicted the kidnapping, should have advised the hospital security.

No point in dwelling on what had happened. It was time to fix it.

He rolled onto his side to visually check what his ears already told him: Blair was sleeping fine. His covers were mussed, with one corner pulled out from the end of the bed. Blair had his splinted arm positioned perfectly at his side curled, protectively toward his chest, the other above his head. Jim snuffed and rubbed his cheek on the stiff pillowcase, missing his own bed.

More awake than asleep now, Jim flipped the bedding back and swung his legs over the edge. He pulled on a pair of pants and left the room without making a sound, in search of a toilet and a glass of water, in that order. The common area was lit by a single exit sign suspended above the door. He could hear the heartbeats of the two MPs on the other side. The men were alert and on guard. Pride for his fellow servicemen made Jim smile. Finishing up in the bathroom, Jim crossed over to the kitchenette. He opened the small refrigerator to check out the snack options. As he pulled out a tray of assorted cheese, salami and crackers, the door to the second small bedroom opened and Sam appeared, barefoot and dressed in loose sweats, dreads captured in a thick ponytail.

"Everything okay? Heard you moving around."

Jim nodded. "Craving a late night snack. Care to pillage with me?" He hooked a finger through a milk jug handle and closed the door with his hip.

"Dude, I never pass up a free meal." Sam reached into the cabinet for two glasses and brought them to the small table.

They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes before Jim's curiosity got the best of him. "How's the army life working for you?"

Sam's chuckle was similar to Blair's. "They don't know what to think of me."

Jim could only imagine. "You rocking their little OD green world?"

The humor evaporated. "I don't like some of the shit I hear. Some of them talk trash about Steve. He won't let me tell them off. The - non-coms, I think they're called? - aren't supposed to know about my senses."

"Steve?" Jim reached for more cheese squares, finding he liked the Swiss the best.

"Packert," Sam explained.

"Oh, right. I forgot that was his first name." Jim licked cracker crumbs off his finger. "What're they saying?"

"That we're- " Sam dropped his hand with a limp wrist and pulled a face, "-Together, you know? And that Steve has to be some black-ops big wig to keep his -" this time Sam fingered air quote marks, "--boytoy, with the rag doll hairdo, close."

"Ignore it," Jim advised. "The same crap went around the station when Blair joined me. It'll die down."

Sam swiped the last of the Swiss cheese slice before Jim could. "I guess, still pisses me off. Other than that, this is a righteous gig. I have all the food I want, a place to stay, Steve's cool when you get to know him. We're gonna do some rock climbing later this year. He used to freesolo. How cool is that for an old guy?"

Jim smirked, switching to cheddar, taking a test bite to see if it was sharp. It was okay. "He doesn't have family?"

"Nope, says the army is his family." Sam dug into the box for another plastic tube of crackers.

"What about you?" Jim asked. "Family?"

Pulling open the end of the wrapping, Sam shrugged. "Army's okay, wouldn't call it mom or dad."

"No, I mean your real family. Where are they?"

A non-sentinel would have missed the quick inhale or the way Sam's hands shook for a second. Jim didn't.

"Don't know about my mom, never knew her. Dad's just a drunk."

Jim was careful to act nonchalant. "Anybody else?"

"Nope."

"How'd Paraho find you?"

Sam shrugged. "School sent me to some clinic." He churned the air next to his right ear with his hand. "You know, this was all acting up. I guess they had some stoolie there, coz next thing I know, the state was transferring me to some special school and I was part of the big brother corporation."

Jim's mouth fell open. "You're shitting me. How old were you?"

Sam shifted in his seat, a look of distress showing. "Eleven? I don't know. It doesn't matter, Jim."

He clearly didn't want to discuss it. Jim nodded, part of him still stunned at the way Sam had been snatched out of his life. Had his own father done him a favor all those years ago? Was there still a system in place that preyed upon young sentinels?

God, this would send Blair into a tailspin.

Sam's thoughts had already moved on. "Tell me about that thing Blair did in the hospital room."

"Thing?"

"You know, when he found his mom gone, that--" Sam shuddered, "--seriously freaky vibe he was throwing off."

"Nothing for me to tell," Jim admitted reluctantly.

Sam leaned forward, frowning. "How am I supposed to do this right if you don't explain this stuff?"

"Keep it down before you wake the others," Jim whispered. "There's no secret code, Sam. A month ago I thought I was the only sentinel alive, okay? I'm not keeping anything from you. I'm saying I'm just as clueless as you are."

The younger man still looked doubtful. "But he's normally making with that... I don't know what to call it. It's like listening to birds chirping in a park. You don't notice it until they're quiet. Then you miss it." Sam looked frustrated. "What is it?"

Jim sighed, pushing the cheese tray away. "I'm telling you I don't know."

"But he studies this stuff. What does he call it?" Sam persisted.

"I, ah, didn't really..." Shit, Jim didn't know how to explain. Didn't really want to explain.

"You didn't tell him? He doesn't know?" Sam rocked back.

"No, no, no. I told him," Jim answered quickly. "Some of it. He knows. He thinks it's some sentinel gift we have. Like being able to see people's auras and crap."

Sam snickered. "Oh, man. It's nothing like that mystical stuff. It's real. You didn't tell him that? We don't get it from anyone else."

Jim pursed his lips. "Not even Packert?"

Sam shook his head. "Sorta." Then he paused. "Okay, maybe a little? I'm not sure, sometimes. It was faint at first, but I think it's growing stronger. I don't know. I thought you knew."

Jim shook his head, reaching for more cheese. He'd need to find a gym soon. "I first noticed it working on a gun smuggling case. We'd been caught in the middle of a bank robbery and afterwards, I felt it. I thought Blair was in shock. But it was more like he was on some adrenaline high. I had to take him home and pump him full of herbal tea."

Blair woke, heart pounding. Sitting upright, it took a second to remember he was on an Air Force base. By the weak light seeping in under the door, he saw Jim's bed was empty.

"Jim?" Blair pushed off the blankets.

The floor was cold. He opened the door leading to the common room and all the air left his lungs. "JIM!"

Jim and Sam were sprawled on the floor. Chairs were overturned. Blair ran to his friend. Dropping to his knees, he rolled Jim onto his back.

"Oh, god. Jim!" Blair pressed two fingers against Jim's neck. A pulse, yes! "Wake up, man. Please, Jim." Blair looked over at Sam, was he still alive? "HELP! Someone HELP!"

The other doors flew open. Packert, with gun in hand, appeared first, Buck flew out of his room a second later.

"Sam!" Packert pushed his gun into Buck's hand and knelt next to Sam's body. Lifting Sam's head gently, he leaned down. "He's breathing, barely. What the hell happened, Sandburg?"

"I don't know!" Blair was focused on Jim, just finishing his own exam. "He's not hurt, that I can see."

Buck spoke up. "They look like they were having a late meal." He waved at the table.

"Shit!" Packert rose high on his knees to look. "Where did that come from? I didn't order that tray."

"Where are our guards?" Buck went to the door, but didn't open it, rather, looking back at Packert for instructions.

Lightly slapping Jim's cheeks, Blair noticed his friend's sweaty face. Jim moaned and twitched.

"Jim, yes! Wake up. Wake up for me. Jim! Come on."

Frowning, Jim's eyes cracked open. His body jerked as he groaned in pain. "H-hurts..."

"What happened? Jim, talk. What's going on with you?" Blair demanded.

Packert left Sam's side long enough to reach the wall phone and make a call. Buck guarded the door.

"P-poisoned..." Jim whispered. He bit his lip and rolled away on to his side, pulling his knees up.

"Nononono." Blair' hands shook. What the hell was he supposed to do? He was too scared to think. Instinctively, he pulled Jim close. "Jim, hold on, man!" He twisted around to yell at Packert. "You said we'd be SAFE here!"

"I've called for medics." Packert slammed the phone down and ran back to Sam, immediately working to bring the younger sentinel around.

Jim jerked in Blair's arms and he could feel his friend's strong abdominal muscles contract. Without stopping to think, Blair pried Jim's mouth open and stuck two fingers deeply into his mouth. Jim reared back, banging into Blair's shoulder. Using his left arm to trap and hold Jim's head, Blair held on, praying he wasn't making Jim's condition worse. He pushed his fingers deeper, until he touched the back of Jim's throat.

With a full body convulsion and a gust of sour air, Jim expelled half a cup of chewed cheese and mushy, milk-soaked vomit. Angling Jim so his airway wasn't at risk, Blair scooped vomit with his fingers. He winced as Jim bit down. "Aaggghhh, ouch, man! Come on, relax already."

Jim's jaw slackened and Blair probed once more. "Come on, Jim. All of it."

Seemingly more awake, Jim squirmed for freedom. Blair held on with everything he had. Even sick, Jim was strong. Blair rolled onto his hip to wrap a leg around Jim's thighs to keep him down. He looked over at Packert. "Do it! Get this out of him."

Immediately, Packert went to work on Sam.

"Blair?" Buck called out from the door.

"I've got him." Blair answered through clenched teeth, not willing to lose what limited protection Buck was providing them from who ever had poisoned his sentinel.

Another full body contraction and Jim expelled more food. "Yes! Come ON, Jim. More!" Blair scooped out the vomit with his fingers before going for more gag reflex. The room became heavy with the stench of vomit. Blair's entire world was reduced to Jim's airway and getting his stomach empty. He wasn't aware medical help had arrived until Buck captured his arms.

"Let them take over, Blair." Buck pulled Blair back, sliding him on the vomit-slicked floor.

The common room was crowded with medical personnel. Blair fought the urge to push them all away. How did he know they weren't the ones responsible? He trembled in Buck's hold.

"Easy," Buck whispered.

Two gurneys had been rolled into the room. A half dozen armed guards in full combat dress stood by at the doorway, their faces grim. A man wearing a medical corps insignia pressed a stethoscope against Jim's chest. Another man wrapped Jim's bare arm in a blood pressure cuff. A third man knelt in the vomit, with Jim's head between his knees and began forcing large volumes of oxygen enriched air into his lungs.

Blair glanced over to Sam, seeing another team working on the younger sentinel. Packert knelt, one hand on Sam's shoulder as he tried to stay out of their way.

"He appears stable," the army doctor said with a nod, looking up from Jim. "Let's transport. I want samples of vomit and whatever they've eaten."

They lifted Jim onto a gurney. Blair's knees didn't want to work anymore. He felt funny, like his head wanted to lift off his shoulders. Buck guided him to a chair. He squeezed Blair's shoulders and asked for some towels. A guy in green fatigues brought them over and Buck calmly went to work cleaning the vomit from Blair's hands and legs.

"That's not good enough!" Blair hissed at Packert from Jim's bedside.

"Blair, I understand how you feel," Packert answered soothingly.

"No," Blair snapped back. "I don't think you do, man." He turned back to Jim, dismissing the army captain.

Packert sighed, but walked to the hospital room door. He paused before slipping out. "That's where you're wrong. I do."

Blair ignored the comment. He ignored everything and just watched Jim breathe. The doctors had said Jim would be fine. Blair wanted more than their word. He didn't trust this place anymore. They were supposed to be safe here, but somehow he had found a way to hurt Jim.

No. Blair had a name now, and somehow just knowing the name made his enemy less than the monster that visited his dreams.

Khan.

And now Khan had proved he could even reach into the military if it suited his purpose. Packert was trying to assure him that Jim was safe now. Hell, the only reason Jim was still with him right now was because he'd woken up. What if he hadn't? Blair lifted Jim's hand and slipped his own inside. He had been in time. Blair squeezed Jim's hand.

Jim weakly squeezed back.

Blair leaned over to see Jim's face. "Jim?"

Eyes still closed, Jim's lips just barely parted. "Hey..."

"How you feeling?" Blair croaked through a rapidly tightening throat.

Jim squeezed his hand again. "I'm here."

"You were p-poisoned, Jim."

"Sam?" Jim opened his eyes.

"F-fine. You're both fine." Damn his emotions anyway. He never did manage that `check'em at the door' shit that Jim preached.

"You okay?" Jim peeked.

"Sure," Blair answered. "I'm right here. And like, I'm never, ever, letting you out of my sight again."

Jim chuckled, then groaned, his free hand going to his gut. "God, what did they do to me?"

"Stomach pump and some activated carbon," Blair said. "We have to talk about your late night snacking habit." The joke sounded lame as soon as Blair said it. "Don't ever do that again, man," he added softly

"I don't plan to." Jim swallowed painfully.

"Here, man." Blair let go to spoon ice chips into Jim's mouth.

Jim worked the ice around a few seconds and swallowed tentatively. "Thanks, that's better."

Blair gave Jim another helping. After the ice had melted Jim rolled over to grab the handrail, pulling himself up enough to check out the room. "Where is everyone?"

Blair caught Jim's shoulder. "You're not getting out of bed, man."

"Relax." Jim eased back onto the pillow. "I'm staying. So, how'd they get the poison onto the base?"

"Packert is still checking." Blair sat back down. "He's pretty pissed off. The doctors said Sam ingested more than you did. They're still running tests. They can't figure out what was used. I mean, it had to be pretty special to get past two sentinels."

Jim shifted on the mattress. "How long have I been out?"

"Fourteen hours."

"Explains the bed sores. This feels like planking covered with a sheet."

Blair stood back up. "Your senses must be out of whack. Look at me."

Jim stopped squirming and looked.

"Okay, we're going to start with your toes, Jim." Blair held up both hands when Jim's eyebrows lifted. "Just try it, okay? You can bitch later if it doesn't work. Now - pretend you're slowly being lowered into a tub of warm water. Everything the water touches totally relaxes your muscles." Blair gently squeezed Jim's blanket-covered toes. "Your toes and feet are going in. The water's warm and silky. There go your ankles and now it's up to your knees." With soft touches, he glided his hands up. This was power of suggestion, not a massage. Blair's broken wrist didn't keep him from using his finger tips.

Jim's eyes closed.

"Your hands are in now. It's half way up your thighs, your wrists. It's up to your waist, man. It's heaven. Your body loves it. Your muscles are floating. Your elbows and now your chest. Your headache will be gone soon."

"How'dchaknow?" Jim whispered.

"I can see it in your frown." Blair whispered. He'd already been told by the doctors Jim's best medicine was to sleep while his body purged the poison. "Your shoulder just went in. Now your neck. You're floating, man. You're on your back and suspended in the water. Only your face is above the line."

"Can't... sink..." Sleep nearly had him. Jim's expression smoothed out as his breathing deepened.

"I've got you, Jim. I won't let go," Blair promised. "Sleep."

And Jim did.

"I can't believe they starched my shorts," Blair grumbled, doing a modified jig while he pulled on his underwear through his jeans. "Sadists."

Chuckling, Jim pulled his t-shirt over his head, ignoring the way his chest muscles protested. Vomiting abused muscles in a way no work out could manage. Jim didn't want to repeat it anytime soon.

"How's your dials?" Blair asked as he held out Jim's pants. "I could make them wash these again."

"I'm fine." Jim took his pants, stepping into them as Blair held his elbow. The kid was making Florence Nightingale look like a prison guard. Every time he'd woken up during the last twenty-four hours, it had been Blair sitting next to his bed. All his food and water had been checked over before Jim was allowed to eat or drink. The army doctor treating him had put up with Blair's endless questions.

Jim didn't say a word, because he knew exactly how Blair was feeling.

Blair held his shirt open. Jim turned his back to slip his arms in and let Blair lift it to his shoulders. "Thanks. So, when does Sam get released?"

"Not sure," Blair answered, rooting around in the metal closet for Jim's shoes. He handed over a worn pair of leather loafers. "We can go check if you want."

"Yeah, I'd like that." Jim slipped into his shoes and glanced around the room. "We got everything?"

"Yeah," Blair said, opening the door to wave to the two armed soldiers. "Just need to bring along our personal body guards and we're free as a bird."

Sam was across the hall. Their rooms were at the end of the corridor. Extra guards had been placed at the entrance to their wing, just in case. Jim reached out with his senses, realizing all the rooms between theirs and the guards were empty. Blair knocked and opened the door.

"Hey, guys."

"Jim, you're up." Sam lifted his shoulders off the bed by his elbows. He set the hand of cards he'd been holding on the side table where more cards had been sorted in matching numbers and runs. "Awesome, I'm out of here."

"Get back down there." Packert towered above the younger man. "You've still got twelve hours."

"Damnit, Steve!" Sam snapped, but settled back into the pillow.

"One more word and you'll wake up sporting a crew cut." Packert held up one finger when it looked as if Sam was making ready with a comeback. "Ah! One. Word. And. Snip!"

"Face it, Sam," Blair said sadly. "You're hosed."

Jim laughed, even though it hurt his chest muscles. "How you feeling?"

Glaring at Packert, but pulling the light blue blanket up to his chin, Sam nodded. "I'm fine. But I'm swearing off cheese and crackers for a lifetime."

Blair pulled up the only unused chair in the room and nudged Jim toward it. With a sigh, Jim took a seat. First time he had a chance, he was going to have a word with his guide.

"What do we know about that, Packert?" Jim asked.

"The mess hall swears they received an order for an appetizer tray. There's an officer training class going on right now, so they had several trays ready to go. The investigating officer tells me it was a random selection. There was no way to know if the tray had been poisoned or who would have ended up eating from it." Packert collected the scattered cards and returned them into a metal box, along with a short pencil and a small notepad filled with scores. "We've had the rest of the trays tested. No poison was found."

"So the food was tampered with after it left the kitchen," Blair theorized.

"If we can trust your investigator," Jim pointed out. "They've already proved they had agents working inside the army. What's to say they don't have more?"

"You can trust this investigator," Packert said smugly as the door opened up.

Buck Stevens walked in wearing army fatigues.

"What the...?" Blair looked him up and down. "You - you're - what the heck did you do?"

"Relax, runt. I'm borrowing these while I ask questions. It was Packert's idea." Buck crossed his arms and leaned against the door. "How you feeling, Jim?"

Jim couldn't wipe the smile off his face. "I knew you'd come around to seeing things my way, Stevens."

Buck rolled his eyes. "What part of `borrowed' didn't you understand?"

"Damn, I wish I had a camera," Jim muttered as he patted his pockets. "Sandburg, you got time to run down to the commissary?"

Blair wasn't taking part in the joke. "What'cha find out?"

"I only told them about the kitchen and the food trays," Packert said.

"Right." Buck scratched his jaw. "Okay, then. The guards weren't at their post. We found them asleep in a closet down the hall. They were drugged. We found it in their coffee. Only they said they brought their coffee from the local PX. They didn't remember any appetizer tray being delivered."

"Damn," Jim said. "I thought the guys outside our door were our guards. They must have been the ones that poisoned us."

"Looks like." Packert stood up, walking to the window to look out. "He appears to have operatives everywhere."

"But how could they have gotten inside our common room. I would have heard them," Jim said. "I'm sure of it."

"White noise generator," Blair said with a sour look.

Packert nodded. "We know they use them."

Blair jammed his hands into his pockets. "God, how are we supposed to fight these guys when they know all about sentinels?"

"But they don't," Sam input. "Man, if they did, they would have already known how important you and Steve are to the whole equation. That's probably why he wants you so much." When none of the others answered and the mood in the room grew noticeably chilly, Sam frowned. "What? It's true. Why are we all dancing around this? Jim's the best sentinel around. This Khan guy wants to be the best. Jim's got Blair. So Khan wants Blair."

"Nobody has anybody," Jim corrected. "Blair offered to help me with my senses. He stays because he wants to. I don't own him. Understand?"

"We're friends," Blair added. "All I do is watch his back."

"You do more than that, Chief," Jim countered.

Blair shook his head. "You said it yourself once, Jim. I don't know squat. All I'm doing is guessing."

The case where Danny was killed. Jim pulled a face. "You know I was frustrated when I said that, Sandburg. I didn't know what I was talking about. You've proved yourself a hundred times over since then."

But Blair continued to look unconvinced. "Let's get back to the problem at hand. How are we going to find Khan? How are we going to get Naomi back?"

They were back in their newly cleaned common room, rereading the reports. Sam and Blair were talking privately. Jim wasn't listening, because he'd caught Blair's `look' before the kid had followed Sam into their room, but Jim could guess the chat was sentinel-related.

Jim didn't have to guess. He had only listened for a few minutes before dialing it down.

"Captain, we've got it working!"

The door to the room flew open, slamming into the wall as Blair and Sam spilled out. Jim joined the group crowding around the technician's table. The phone had been completely taken apart and could no longer be deemed portable. Odd looking electronic components and sophisticated computers were hardwired to the phone now. It looked like something a kid would attempt to build for a science fair project.

"We're tied into the satellite system, we can triangulate the caller's location, if we're lucky, sir," the corporal added.

"Excellent work, Franklin." Packert patted the man's back. "You too, Wills."

Blair looked hungrily at the table, his hands reaching but not touching. "He can call us now?"

"Yes, sir." Franklin was putting his tools into a cloth roll up kit.

"Question is - did we already miss the call?" Jim asked, crossing his arms.

"It's under seventy-two hours, they might have purposely waited to make Sandburg sweat," Packert answered, briskly rubbing his hands together. "I'd say we're back in business."

Franklin stood, nodding to the civilians and tossing Packert a tired salute. Packert returned it, dismissing both the technicians, speaking only after they were gone. "What do we do when it rings? Can Khan hear us in the background when he talks to Blair?"

"Jim could," Blair stated. He snapped his fingers. "We need our own white noise generator."

Orders were given and by dinner time, two machines were set up. Packert switched them on, giving Jim a knowing look. "Just in case."

Jim nodded. "Good idea, we should have thought of this from the beginning."

When the knock came to announce their dinners, the guards rolled in a serving tray holding several silver domed lids. Jim was starving and more than ready to sit down to something hot from the mess hall, even if he did have to wait for Blair's taste test.

When the domes came off, Jim moaned. "You have to be kidding me. Tell me this is a joke, Packert."

Buck picked up the green plastic wrapped field meal with his thumb and forefinger, as if he was handling a live rattler. "Wonderful."

Packert lifted his hands with a shrug. "How else are we going to know its safe? You two are too sensitive. Even the trace amounts of poison in that cheese put you both down. I figure, random selection from our own storehouse should keep you both alive."

"We need to check for puncture holes." Blair instantly began to examine the MREs. "I used to eat these all the time. Before I got steady grants."

Curling a lip, Jim wandered back to the sofa. "Just don't give me the mystery meat stew." He dropped onto the sofa with a peevish bounce just as an insistent buzz sounded from the table holding the dissected cell phone.

Blair threw down the meal and ran for the table. "Yes!"

Packert caught him just before Blair could pick up anything. "Hold it!"

"What?" Blair demanded.

Jim answered, "First of all, we have to learn how to answer this. Secondly, we need a plan."

Blair's eyes were on the table. "What? Fine! Tell me how to answer. What's the plan? Hurry!"

"Push this and speak into this." Packert pointed at a green button and a computer microphone standing on the table's corner. "The plan is simple: keep them talking, ask to speak with Naomi and don't promise them anything. Got it?"

"Yes, got it." Blair's finger hovered over the button. He jammed it when Packert gave the nod. "Hello?"

"I assume you are surrounded by your companions." Khan's voice boomed out of a tiny speaker for all to hear.

Blair's fingers curled into fists. He closed his eyes. "Where's my mother?"

"She's doing fine, eating well."

"S-she's awake?" Jim reached out and snagged a chair, dragging it over. Blair sat down hard.

"Our doctors are superior to your western medicine."

"I want to talk to her."

"Perhaps, if you behave and do as you're told."

"How do I know you're not lying to me?" Blair asked. "How do I know you didn't..." He swallowed hard before forcing the words. "K-kill her."

"You're incorrigible. I don't know why I bother," Khan answered dismissively.

The connection was broken.

"NO!" Blair grabbed the skinny mike and pushed the green button frantically. "No, wait!"

Jim captured Blair's hand, saving the button from abuse. "Relax." He looked at Packert. "Enough time?"

Packert and Sam were peering intently into a computer screen. He typed a few keys and nodded. "He's in South Africa."

The modified phone rang again, Blair pounced. "Hello!"

"You only ask questions when I give you permission. Understood?"

Blair's fury-filled eyes met Jim's gaze. "Yes, sir."

"Very good. Because I am not without compassion, and you are new, I have decided to allow you to hear your mother's voice. She will not be able to hear you, so do not bother to speak."

The next voice was female and Jim was positive it was Blair's mother. "Yes, thank you. I do feel much better now."

Blair couldn't seem to contain himself. "Mom!"

Khan returned. "I can see you will take much training. I wonder if you're worth it."

"Why can't-" Blair cut his question off when Packert and Jim shook their heads at him. Visibly reining in his emotions, he made Jim proud with his next statement. "T-thank you for allowing me to hear her voice, sir."

Khan's silence was long and Jim held his breath. The guy sounded smart, but almost maniacal in manner. Was he buying it?

"I'm impressed, worm. I know you're with the military. I know you're tracing the call. If you want to see your mother again, come to me. If you bring your cop, you're just signing his death warrant."

Blair watched Jim's expression harden as Khan gave his orders. "How do I find you?"

"I'm at the third pole of the world. Come and I will find you."

"What?" Again, the connection was gone.

Blair immediately turned to Jim. "Jim? Was it her? I thought it was, but you tell me. Was it?"

"Yeah, that was Naomi." Jim slipped a hand under Blair's ponytail and squeezed his neck.

"Oh, man." Blair chewed his lower lip.

"What if it was just a recording?" Sam asked.

"That didn't sound pieced together," Jim added. "I think we can believe him."

"I agree." Packert was at the computer screen. "Damn."

"What?" Jim and Blair said at the same time.

"Now I'm getting a triangulation from Northern Canada." He frowned. "Khan's bouncing his signals."

"I'd do the same if I were him," Buck said.

"So we don't know anything more than we did this time yesterday," Sam said, walking away from the table and picking up one of the MRE packets. "What was he talking about? There are only two poles, north and south."

"Actually, I've heard of a third." Jim answered.

"Here, Jim," Packert said, entering the common room holding a map. Sam followed carrying a laptop computer under his arm.

The three men reading reports looked up. Blair stood, stiff from sitting for long hours. "That got internet?"

"Wireless," Packert answered.

"I'll get it hooked up," Blair promised, taking the computer.

Jim opened up the map and took a look. Packert had gotten him a decent one. He spread it out on the coffee table. "Okay, when you've got that running, Chief, do a search on `eight-thousanders' and cross search with third pole."

"Right," Blair answered, already halfway through hooking everything up. Buck looked over the map, his eyebrows climbing. "The Middle East?"

Jim nodded, glancing over to where Blair's fingers were flying over the keyboard. The laptop was fast.

Blair met Jim's gaze. "Northern Pakistan."

Jim nodded. "Right, almost half the tallest mountains in the world are in the northern territories of Pakistan, as well as some of the longest glaciers found. I've heard it called `the third pole of the world.'"

Packert lifted the corner of the map to riffle through the reports underneath.

"What are you looking for?" Sam asked.

"That report on Khan's financial connections."

Buck leaned out from the sofa and pulled out a thick wad of papers. "Here it is. I just saw it."

"Thanks." Packert flipped through the report. "He owns stocks in an export business that headquarters in a town called Muzzaffarabad. It might be a starting point."

"So we're finally getting out of here?" Blair asked eagerly.

"Just a second." Buck uncrossed his ankles and stood. "I'm not sure it's a good idea."

Blair shook his head. "He made it clear. It's the only way to get Mom. I've got to go."

"Buck's right. You can't trust him," Jim added. "Khan just wants you off U.S. soil."

"Actually," Packert said, crossing over to the white noise generators and examining them closely. Apparently satisfied that they worked properly, he turned back to the group. "I think Blair is right."

"What?" Both Buck and Jim blurted out together.

"Stop and think a minute. That poison attempt was aimed at sentinels. If Blair, Buck or I had eaten it, we might have been sick, but not at death's door. The Army can no longer guarantee Sam's or Jim's safety. Hell, I doubt anywhere I stash you two would be safe. Every time I report to my command, word will reach Khan."

"You think the leak is that high up?" Jim asked.

Shivers ran up Blair's arms. He hugged his ribcage.

"I'm sure of it." Packert looked at Sam. "I say we take personal control of our safety."

"You're going AWOL?" Buck asked.

"No, not officially, on paper I'm taking my very overdue leave. I trust my immediate commander to keep the real reason safe. We'll draw some supplies, get everyone's passport and the visas we need and do this ourselves."

"But don't we need the army once we find him?" Blair asked.

"Off our own soil, this becomes complicated, Chief," Jim said, rubbing his chin. "Politics gets involved; enough red tape to strangle a mastodon. Your mother would be gone before we got permission to move."

Packert cagily glanced about the room. "I'd understand if some of you chose to pass on this."

Buck crossed his arms. "Don't even look at me, Packert. I may think this is crazy, but I'm going if Blair goes."

"He's off."

A flash of doubt ran through Blair. The plan had been agreed upon by all, but now that Buck was away, he was finding king-sized holes in it.

"He'll be fine," Jim whispered. They strolled along the desert path, meandering through an obstacle course, which ran parallel to the high chain link fence circling the base. The moon was a sliver in the dark sky, the night air cool and refreshing.

Packert's men had gone back to Dry Falls to retrieve some of their personal belongings. A phone call to Simon Banks had facilitated the arrival of Jim and Blair's passports, extra cell phones, money, as well as Jim's back-up gun. Getting the visas proved a challenge, but Packert came through with them by pulling in a few favors.

The plan had begun, with Buck's departure the first step. Blair took a deep breath to calm his jitters.

"I still wish we could stay together," Blair admitted, kicking at a bit of gravel on the path.

"Safer this way. Harder for Khan to put tails on three separate groups. Easier for us to spot any tails we might pick up." Jim turned. "Let's head back. Four A.M. is going to come pretty early in the morning. We should get some sleep."

"Man, the only times I'm ever up at four are times I haven't been to bed yet."

Jim snorted. "So I've noticed."

Back in their temporary quarters, Blair ran a hand through his greasy hair. "I'm going to shower."

Jim sorted through the collection of wrapped MREs without much enthusiasm. "Good plan, I'll take the next one. First stop, once we blow this joint, is Wonder Burger."

Blair paused in the doorway to the bathroom. "Actually, Jim, even that sounds good right now."

Heathrow was Heathrow, crowded and confusing. Blair hadn't been to the international airport in years. From the looks of the large - confusing and contradicting - signs hanging from high ceilings, not much had changed. Crowds of weary travelers pushed and shoved by, rushing toward the gates. A desperate looking woman clutching an overstuffed canvas bag stopped in front of Blair, grabbed his coat and jabbered away in her native dialect. Before Blair could explain he didn't understand, Jim moved him beyond the woman's reach.

"Jim, she's lost."

"She can use the information booth, like the rest of us," Jim snapped back. "Damn, this place is still a zoo."

"You've been here before?" Blair ducked an umbrella tip wielded by an old man overloaded with luggage.

"A few times... in here."

Blair was tugged sideways, out of the human current and safely within an eddy of coffee smells and peace. "Oh, yeah, make mine a double."

Jim ordered two espressos from the young girl behind the Costa coffee bar and carried them to the table Blair had commandeered. "Here."

"Thank you." Blair sipped blissfully and eyed the crowds. Any other time and he'd be in his element. Traveling and watching strangers interact with each other. Observing and recording and building theories, Blair could do this for weeks. Except for the fact he was looking for his kidnapped mother and - at the same time - evading falling into the clutches of a modern day tyrant with enhanced senses.

They had been on the move for days now. He had lost count of the airports, never questioning their last minute plane tickets and new destinations. Finally, they had boarded a plane to London. Blair was beginning to think they were making a career out of airport hopping.

"When's our next flight?"

"Three hours." Jim rubbed his eyes and sniffed.

"You okay, man?" Blair leaned over the small table, touching Jim's forehead, causing a startled jerk. "Damn, you're a spring ready to snap. Where're your dials?"

"I'm fine, doctor." But Jim's snappish answer told Blair otherwise.

"Hey, let's find a hotel or something. You need some down time."

"Give it a rest, Sandburg." Jim eyed the passing crowd, his jaw set and eyes hard.

Blair sighed, imagining what all this travel was doing to Jim's senses. "Right."

"There's supposed to be a bus service into town," Jim grumbled. "I guess we're going to have to take a taxi."

They had finally arrived in Pakistan. Getting through customs had held minimal hassle, but the wait had been long. The officials had ignored Blair, but took their time with Jim's carry on bag. Their money was safely hidden on their bodies, so after Jim's clothes were mauled, they were waved through. Their first order after customs had been to find another flight north. They checked the timetables, but waited on buying tickets. No point in forewarning their enemy of their plans. So now they had nearly twenty-four hours before flying out again.

"A taxi is going to cost us, man." Blair stood on tiptoes, shielding his eyes from the late afternoon sun with his good hand. The temperature was comfortable; just starting to cool and making him glad he wore a long sleeve shirt. His wrist had begun to throb during the plane's landing so he had put his sling to use.

"I don't care. I'm not hassling with one of those minivans or auto-rickshaws." Jim steered him toward a waiting taxi and got the driver's attention. "Karachi?"

A grizzled looking man nodded happily, jumping out his cab and opening the back door for them. "Achchah! Achchah! Please get in, janab."

Blair slid into the clean cab with a sigh. They'd been on their feet far too long. Jim joined him and the cab driver started the engine. "Hotel?"

"What do you recommend?" Jim asked, leaning back in the seat.

"You like art? History? Shop the bazaars? Karachi has all." His English was better than Blair expected.

Blair leaned forward. "Is the Khyber still open? We'll stay there."

The driver flipped up the flag to activate the meter and pulled away from the curb with a frown. "That hole? Nahin, janab. Let me take you to the Pearl Continental on Club road. Very nice, very."

"No, thanks, man. We want the Khyber. How much to go there?"

"No worry. I will take you." He flashed Blair a toothy grin in the rearview mirror.

Blair flipped the meter down. "Listen, either give us your price or let us out."

Leaning forward, Jim growled, "We have a problem?"

The taxi driver met Blair's steady gaze without fear. He chuckled and raised a hand. The heavy accent was dropped. "Okay, okay. Not one annas over seventy-five."

"Deal." Blair flipped the meter flag again and sat back, noticing Jim's surprise. "Hey, man. I take my travel costs seriously."

"I'm impressed. And when did you become an expert on Pakistan hotels?"

Blair shrugged. "Just pick stuff up. We anthropologists like to talk, share travel tips and recipes."

Jim nodded. "You're going to be handy to keep around, Junior."

The drive was uneventful. As promised, the cabbie delivered them to their hotel. Blair tipped him to show he held no hard feelings, and in exchange, they were given advice on the best places to eat and honest locations to exchange their currency. Jim handled the hotel clerk while Blair watched. He glanced around the hotel lobby, furnished in a mix of cultures. Bright red clothes hung on the walls, with small tags telling would be buyers how much each cost. A fancy tea set sat on an ornate, low table. Off to the side was a curved entry way to a busy restaurant. Smells of spice and hot meats made Blair's mouth water.

"Okay, Sandburg. Let's find our room." Jim led the way toward the elevator.

Their room held two twin beds, with a fan and an attached bath. The place smelled clean and had a view of the city. Blair tossed his pack on the far bed and went to the window. Square buildings of glass and steel rose into the sky through out the city. Cars clogged the streets. The sun was setting and lights were coming on every where. Blair closed his eyes and let the city's voice wash over him. Even on the other side of the world, the sounds could be downtown Seattle. He just prayed the trip would be fruitful.

"You want the first shower?" Jim offered, sorting through the spare clothes in his own pack.

"Yeah, thanks." Blair let the curtain drop.

They returned to the lobby later that evening to find the attached restaurant still open. Locals sat at small tables, tracking the two westerners silently as the host led them to a table. Blair was beyond tired, but too hungry to sleep. Jim picked up a menu and scanned the selection.

"What do you recommend, Sandburg?"

Blair yawned. "Follow your nose, I guess, man. I don't have a clue."

"What? Figured you'd have a gastric attack plan." Jim set his menu aside and crossed his arms. "Where's that research mode I'm used to?"

The waiter returned with two bottled waters and set them on the table. Blair waited until he had gone before answering. "Nah, I just remembered some stuff I heard from Professor Tripes. He studied Ashoka."

"Bless you," Jim deadpanned.

"Ashoka, the greatest of the Mauryan emperors." Blair waved his hand, ignoring the shtick, a spark of excitement building as he remembered Tripes' fervor on the subject. "Something like two hundred fifty BC. Before Alexander the Great."

"Oh." Jim twisted off his water bottle cap and took a drink. "That long ago."

"Ashoka's inscriptions are found dispersed throughout this country. It's kinda cool, `cause you can actually trace, in detail, the first wide expansion of Buddhism..." Blair frowned and dug his glasses out of his shirt pocket. This wasn't the time for a lecture. Who knew what was happening to his mom while he bored Jim with ancient history. He cleared his throat and scanned the menu. "Anyway, he loved to talk about this place. All we need to know is don't drink the tap water."

Jim's face softened as he lowered his voice. "Hey, when all this is over, how about we plan a trip someday. You know, be real tourists."

Blair found a weak smile for his sentinel and nodded. "That'd be cool, Jim."

"So." Jim returned to his brisk manner. "Suggest away. I'm starving."

Blair ordered the tandoori chicken, minced meat grilled on a skewer called sheikh kebab - which Jim liked the best - and several orders of an unleavened bread the waiter called chappatis. For drinks they stayed with bottled water, but Blair promised himself to try some of the fruit drinks another day.

As they ate, Jim watched the comings and goings of other guests. They were the only westerners in the room. Blair had a side view of the entryway, as Jim had taken the seat that allowed the best position to watch the entire room. It was a cop thing and Blair was used to it.

"More women than I expected to see," Jim commented as he ate.

"Yeah, except for some of the remote villages, the culture of hiding the women is all but gone," Blair answered. He tilted his head as he studied his friend. "So, Jim, have you ever been here before?"

"No, not here." Jim pulled lamb off the skewer with his fingers and dipped it into a small bowl of sauce. "But I've been next door."

"Afghanistan? I didn't know that. When?"

Jim flicked him a brief look, one that he'd come to recognize as `we have entered taboo territory.'

"Oh, never mind."

Blair licked the butter dribbling down his wrist. Naomi laughed from across the small table. They sat outside; enjoying the San Francisco weather and watching the tourists wander down the fishing piers. Blair was happy with life, excited about starting Rainier University in the fall. This trip was a celebration of sorts, a late present for his sixteenth birthday. Traveling with Naomi was more than an adventure. Even the simple things were special, like the hot loaf of sourdough. Its smell was incredible.

A pillow hit the back of his head. Blair jerked up, leaning on his elbows and blinked in confusion at the strange room he found himself in. His mother and their meal were gone.

"Check out in less than thirty, Sandburg. I can't let you sleep any more," Jim said, as close to an apology as the ex-ranger would give. "Up and at `em."

Wearing only his arm splint, Blair stumbled toward the bathroom. The air was already too warm. Jim had the ceiling fan going. Blair stepped into the ancient bathtub and pulled the curtain. The water pressure was weak, but sufficient. Blair used the last of the complimentary shampoo and cream rinse, knowing tomorrow might find them sleeping under a rock. He enjoyed the experience.

Much too soon, he was toweling his hair dry. The socks, boxers and t-shirt he wore the day before still hung from the towel hooks. They were mostly dry after being hand washed last night in the bathroom sink. He slipped them back on and ran a wide-toothed comb through his hair.

"What do you want to do until our flight leaves?" Jim asked as Blair reentered the room. Jim already had his own pack ready to go.

Blair took a second to stow his shaving kit. He pulled out his jeans and shirt from yesterday. It was getting easier to move his left hand. He manipulated the buttons to his over shirt with ease. He pushed his toes into his tennis shoes without bothering with the laces. He glanced around the room to make sure he had everything. "Breakfast first, then how about checking out Old Town?"

"Yeah, we can ask around." Jim led the way down the quiet hotel hallway and poked the button to retrieve the elevator.

Taking Jim's arm, Blair turned it until he could read the man's watch. "We have enough time?"

"You know, most people just ask for the time," Jim said.

Blair flashed him a smile. "Where's the fun in that?"

Enjoying a pleasant, western-style breakfast of eggs, hash browns and toast, they asked for directions and decided to walk to Old Town. The modern buildings and paved street slowly transformed into odd, squarish-shaped structures with corrugated tin awnings. The sidewalks were gone. The wide street teemed with men in white baggy pants and over shirts. Some wore black coats. An occasional car drove by, but most of the wheeled travel was horse drawn buggies and flatbed trailers. A battered red and white bus passed, with people hopping off and leaping on at random. Market owners with booths called out, inviting them to see their wares. Shop keepers quibbled loudly as they bartered.

They wove between the locals, mostly men, but a few women, their faces all but hidden by dark scarves. Blair smiled at them as he passed and enjoyed the surprised looks in their eyes before they shyly looked down.

"Cool it, Romeo. We don't need a street war," Jim muttered, pushing him along with a hand pressed low on his back.

"Oh! Check it out!" Blair darted across the street toward a booth loaded with books, ignoring Jim's startled exclamation. The booth owner was an old man with skin the color of a rich coffee filtered through linen. He smiled welcomingly and waved his hands over the old books.

Blair reached for one in particular, the author's name practically shouting out to him. "How much?"

"Sandburg!" Jim loomed over Blair's shoulder, his face lined with irritation. "Don't run off like that."

"Look, Jim. Richard Burton." Blair pulled the old book from its place between a prayer book and a tourist guide. The book's binding was worn at the corners and a few of the pages were loose. Otherwise, Blair thought it looked great.

"Not the actor, young jenab," the old bookseller said in broken English. "Mighty explorer of the Nile. Made Karachi the capital of Sind. Many years we were the leader in the markets. Our schools the best, until Islamabad was built, no place was finer."

Blair turned the book over. The book was volume one of a two volume book titled `Unexplored Syria.' "This is too cool. How much?" He was already reaching into his pocket for his money. Blair knew there wasn't much research value in the book as far as sentinels went, but to own a first edition was something he couldn't resist.

"Very rare..." The old man stroked his chin. "Two fifty at least. I can do no less."

Blair's heart sank. He'd screwed up. He'd shown too much interest in the book. No way could he barter for a decent price now. The guy was asking the equivalent of both their air fare to the north. Such a purchase would wipe out his entire stash.

He set the book down.

Jim picked it up and held the book up for the man to see. "We'll give you thirty for it."

The man looked outraged. "What am I? A fool? Do I not work for a living? The book is worth ten times that!" He switched to the language of Urdo and ranted for another full minute, adjusting his cloth skull cap. He fussed with a collection of brass bells on the table and countered, "A hundred fifty."

Blair tried not to smile. He looked up at Jim, raising his eyebrows. If he watched what he ate, he might be able to swing that. Jim gave his head a slight shake, carefully setting the book down and folding his arms. "Seventy-five and some information, please."

"I am being robbed." The man huffed, looking heavenward briefly before squinting at Jim. "What information?"

"We're traveling to Muzzaffarabad. What can you tell us about a man named Hamal Khan?"

The bookseller shrugged, and to Blair's delight, took a section of newspaper and began to wrap the book, using string to carefully bind it. "What is a name? Khan is like rocks in the desert. There are many."

"I hear this man is powerful," Jim said, carefully counting out the paper money. "He would be someone people know."

"Powerful men are dangerous." The old man handed the book to Blair and took the money. "But I do not know of this one."

"A pleasure, shukria." Jim handed him an extra ten rupee.

The man smiled broadly, touching his forehead and nodding. "Salaam."

They continued down the bazaar. Blair handed Jim the money to pay him back, then clutched the book tightly. "Oh, man. We make a great team, Jim."

"You owe me dinner out when we get back to Cascade, Professor." Jim lightly punched his right shoulder. "And stop racing across the street like that."

They spent another hour looking at leather goods, beadwork, and furniture. At one point, Jim paused to admire a carved wooden chest, picturing how it would look at the loft as a coffee table. Blair's attention was captured by colorful throw pillows of embroidered silk. The stall owners pounced upon the possible sales, their eyes lighting up as they spied two westerners. But Blair shook his head and both men continued on their way.

Loudspeakers wailed and all activity stopped. Blair's eyes lit with excitement as the anthropologist within watched the prayer mats come out and rolled upon the ground. He pulled Jim into an open caf to sit as thousands of men prayed toward Mecca.

They ate a lunch of meat-stuffed pastries and fruit drinks. Jim was starting to like the unique spices, wondering if there was an authentic Pakistan restaurant back home. He checked his watch as he wiped his fingers. "We'd better get to the airport. Let's find a PIA shuttle."

They cut across the crowded intersection, heading north toward the bus station, dodging horse droppings and men on bikes. Blair stumbled, knocking into Jim's arm.

"Ouch." Blair slapped his left arm, twisting it to peer at the spot above his elbow. "Something bit me."

Jim pulled him off to the side, out of the way of the foot, bike and horse traffic, into a narrower market path lined with sacks of grain, vegetables and beans. "Let me see."

But Blair stumbled again, before Jim could get a good look, and what he did manage to see made him catch his breath. Blair's sleeve had a tiny nick in the fabric's weave.

"Jim," Blair said with a slur, panic building. He lifted a hand to his forehead. "Oh, shit, man. I don't... feel..."

Jim caught him before he went down. Strangers jostled them, in a hurry, ignoring them as they passed. Jim shifted Blair's dead weight until he could get a solid hold, his arms circling around Blair's ribs. Blair looked like a drunk, his cheek smashed into Jim's chest, his eyes hooded as he tried to form words with numb lips.

"Hold on, buddy. I've got you." He hoisted Blair up as high as he could and headed for the first business doorway that looked like it might have a phone. The urge to get off the street drummed an insistent beat though his veins. Never did he expect such a bold attempt to snatch his guide.

A shove from behind sent them both cart wheeling over a pile of burlap sacks stuffed with potatoes. Before Jim could get to his feet, a sack was thrown over his head and too many hands rolled him over. Jim shouted for help. Something pressed against his face, cutting off his words. He felt Blair being tugged from his hands. Kicking hard, Jim fought back. It was hopeless. Blair was gone. Something rough circled his neck. His own hands free now, he swung, feeling his knuckles sink into someone's middle.

Jim pulled at whatever circled his neck. It was a thick rope. He knew he was fighting for his life now, expecting any minute to feel a knife slip between his ribs. He focused on the harsh pants of his attackers, estimating their proximity by sound and touch. Rolling suddenly, Jim brought up one knee and heard a satisfying crunch. The clatter of a knife falling intermingled with a pain-filled cry. Jim carried the momentum, his right hand totally free now. He struck out with the heel of his hand, targeting the nasal sounds and felt a nose crumble under his attack. The rope around his neck went slack. Jim ripped off the sack. His attackers were scattering. The market was nearly empty as those not wishing to become involved ran.

Blair dangled like a rag doll between two men as they dragged him toward a small, blue sedan.

A large man stood between Jim and his chance to save his partner. The man snarled, drawing a long knife from within his loose fitting pants. He crouched liked a street fighter and lunged.

A wide, metal, loading-dock-type dolly sat next to a barrel of onions. Jim snatched the handles. It made a handy shield. He caught the knife between the slats and twisted, using the move to wrench the knife from his attacker's hand. Weaponless, the man fell back, but Jim was too fast. He had fear and anger on his side. Jim dodged a swing, at the same time striking out with one foot, catching the attacker's knee in a sideways move. The attacker screamed as his knee dislocated and he fell to the dirt.

Jim ran for the sedan, watching them throw his partner into the open back door. One kidnapper hurried to the driver's side while the other folded in Blair's legs. Before he could slam the door shut, Jim caught him by his collar and swung him in a circle and bounced his head off the car's rear quarter panel just as the motor started. The man went down.

Too late! Jim watched the car lurch away, the back door still open. The left behind kidnapper shook his head once and sprang back up, arms swinging. Jim ducked and sunk his fist deeply into the man's gut, watching peripherally as the car carrying Blair drove away. But his opponent straightened and swung again, catching Jim in the jaw. Jim fell back.

Desperate, Jim's bumped his fighting skills up a notch. He'd underestimated this guy. It had to end now if he had a prayer getting Blair back. Falling back to a solid stance, he focused on his opponent, looking for an opening. The guy was good.

Then, fate called with an unexpected, tortured sound of ripping and crashing metal. The other man was distracted, giving Jim the opening. Jim took him down with an economy of movement, slamming his forearm straight down with a weakening blow to the chest that caused the other to lean out, then a near fatal palm-heel strike to the lower jaw. He dropped to the dirt in a boneless mass. Dismissing the man, Jim spun on his heel and ran. The blue sedan carrying Blair jutted sideways from the side of a city bus. Outraged, the bus driver jumped out and advanced on the sedan's driver.

Jim reached the door, seeing Blair through the glass, still unconscious. He yanked it open. The driver was dazed, head lolling against the backrest. Jim dug into his pocket, pulled out a small adhesive patch and pulled off the backing. He reached in and stuck it to the driver's clothes, right inside the collar. Satisfied the tracking device was in place, he got a fistful of Blair's shirt and the waistband of his jeans. Mentally apologizing for the rough treatment, he dragged Blair free of the car. A shadow fell on the ground by Jim's feet, warning him of a new threat. He dropped Blair and turned to fight.

"Hold it!" Buck Stevens threw up his hands.

"Shit!" Jim panted, face sweaty. "Where the hell did you come from?"

Buck reached down for one of Blair's arms. "Jeep's waiting. Come on."

Jim grabbed Blair's other arm, and together, they lifted their friend from the dirt road and ran.

Blair woke to find himself curled into a tight ball. Whatever he lay upon was narrow and padded. The platform swayed. An overwhelming desire to vomit grew.

"He's coming around," he heard Jim say. "Pull over."

The swaying stopped and cold night air rushed in as a door opened. Jim's worried face loomed close. "Hey."

Blair hurt too much to answer. He groaned.

"Let's try some fresh air." Jim got an arm under Blair's shoulders and lifted. Blair didn't want to move, but Jim hauled him out and sat him gently down on a gravel shoulder by the side of a narrow road. Slowly the fresh air dissipated his nausea. By the light of a bright moon Blair took in the empty desert landscape and distant mountains.

Pain receded and his head cleared. The last thing he remembered was walking through Old Town with Jim.

"H-hooowww." Damn, his tongue felt as flexible as a brick and twice as big.

Jim dropped down next to him. "You were shanghaied right out of my hands. They used a pretty nasty sedative. How do you feel?"

He wasn't sure yet, too many of his body parts felt like strangers. Blair lifted his hands and flexed his fingers. "K-kay, I g-guess."

"Here's some water." A third person squatted down, holding a bottle out.

"B-buck?" Blair leaned back to look up, knocking back into Jim.

"Hey, runt." Buck smiled and twisted off the water cap. He held the bottle to Blair's lips and tilted. "Small sips."

The water tasted great on his dry throat, but sat in his stomach like an obnoxious houseguest. Blair clutched his gut and looked down in amazement. He was wearing someone else's clothes.

Jim chuckled.

Now Blair could see he wasn't alone in the fashion department. Both Jim and Buck wore the traditional salwar kamis, loose fitting pants and top. Crude, wide strapped sandals adorned their feet. "You dressed m-me?"

"We're better off if we blend in."

"Jim, you'd have to chop off t-twelve inches before you had a prayer of blending in." Blair rolled his eyes and took the water from Buck. "You and Buck stick out like two sore white thumbs, man."

"We can't all be blessed with short stature, Tattoo." Jim opened the cloth sack he carried and pulled out a biscuit shaped object. He broke it in half. "See if this helps your stomach."

Blair accepted the biscuit. It did help. Blair looked around as he ate and sipped. "Where are we?"

"Two hours north of Hyderabad," Jim answered.

"We're not flying to Muzzaffarabad?" Blair watched Buck fill the gas tank of their jeep from a Military-type gasoline can. Two more cans were strapped to the rear of the vehicle. A spare tire was lashed to the heavy-duty wire basket resting on the roof. They looked ready for some serious traveling. "Where'd we get that?"

"Buck is in charge of appropriations. He showed up in time to get us out of Karachi without having to deal with the authorities." Jim grinned. "I managed to get a tracer on one of them."

"Tracer? You mean that stuff you insisted on bringing? It was a bug?"

"Yeah." Jim leaned back into the open door and pulled out a small box. "We're tracking him now."

Blair smiled. "So the plan worked."

"Almost too well." Jim frowned. "Buck was delayed. They almost got you."

Dismissing Jim's comment with a wave of his hand, Blair answered. "Where are they now?"

"Just one. He's moving north," Jim answered looking down at the small screen on the box.

Blair remembered something else. "My book!"

Jim helped him stand. "Relax. We have it. I've stowed it with your personal stuff in the back."

"Whew, thanks, Jim." Blair shivered. As the sedative wore off, he felt the cold night temperatures seeping into his bones.

"Ready," Buck announced, returning the fuel can to its place.

Blair climbed aboard and settled in between bedrolls and gear in the back. He helped himself to a blanket out of the gear and wrapped up. Jim took shotgun. Buck got back behind the wheel and they were off. Although the road was paved, it lacked the upkeep. Potholes and ruts slowed them down. Occasional cars passed. Blair could see tents off the road, small camps complete with horses and camels. The Pakistani night was quiet and peaceful. Buck drove with careful determination while Jim dozed, his head resting against the window. Blair was content to watch the night desert pass.

Dawn arrived, sending bold rays of light through the sky. Jim woke, carefully stretching his limbs before checking the tracker box.

Blair leaned forward. "Anything?"

"Still the same. Still moving north," Jim answered. He glanced at Buck. "You want to switch?"

"No, I'm good." Buck held out a hand. "Water?"

Blair found and passed a water bottle forward from the supplies. They had groceries and some type of cooking device as well. They were prepared.

Jim slipped a map down from the sun visor. "We should be coming into Sukkur soon. We can stop for a real meal and stretch our legs."

"Sounds good." Blair leaned forward to look at the map Jim had smoothed over his legs. "Hey, there's a train. What if this guy we're tracking is riding it?"

"Then he'd need to get off if he's trying to reach Muzzaffarabad. The track heads west," Jim answered following the crooked path with his finger.

Blair could see the long stretch of nothing between Sukkur and the Northern Territory. He leaned back with a sigh. They had a long way to go.

Sukkur was a sprawling desert oasis, an explosion of color and life within an arid land. Buildings decorated with geometric, floral designs and painted in bright, contrasting colors dotted the hills. Yet the city, for its size, had a quiet atmosphere. The jeep moved slowly through traffic. Sun bounced painfully off the other cars, blinding them with flashes of light. The heat was uncomfortable and Jim longed to shed his long-sleeve tunic, but Blair had wisely advised against it. The people were modest, and nothing would single them out faster than to show a lot of pale skin.

"Let's pick up some fruit and go down to the river to cool off," Blair suggested. He sat in the back seat, looking fresher than he should in the heat.

Jim pointed to a side road leading away from the busy highway to an open-air market and Buck turned off. Parking, Buck opened the door and stood. He stretched as he looked around. "I'll wait here. Watch over our stuff."

Jim was nearly bowled over by an excited anthropologist. "Hold up, Livingston. I think you should wait here with Buck."

Rebellion wearing eight and a half sized sandals emerged. "Jim, I'm perfectly able to walk over to that market with you and back without getting kidnapped. They're not going to try twice in as many days."

"And you know that... how?" Jim asked.

Blair twirled his hand around. "Look around, man. This isn't Karachi. Around here, something like that would be reported, stopped even." He clubbed his hair back as he spoke and tied it with a bit of string, smiling up at Jim

Jim didn't want to admit he was being overprotective again. He gave in grudgingly. "Stay close."

They shopped, filling a sack with mangoes and peaches. Jim picked up a melon but Blair shook his head and pointed to the pin holes.

"They soak them in water to make them plump," Blair whispered, taking the melon out of Jim's hand and returning it. "We'll get sick from the water." He picked up a stash of almonds and smiled at the shop keeper. "We'll take this instead. Good protein."

Half an hour later they were back in the jeep and heading toward the Indus River.

It appeared they were not the only ones seeking relief from the heat. Men, woman and children rested on the grassy shore, some families complete with temporary sun shades. Buck kept driving until the nicer spots were gone and more of the river bank was available. They parked well off the road and carried their lunch and a blanket down to the water's edge.

"Look at that." Blair pointed further down the river, where a long stone barrage separated the river into channels. "I wonder how old it is."

A passing man heard the comment and stopped, bowing politely. "Not old, my friend. Only seventy-odd years. They say our irrigation canals are wider and longer than your canals in Panama." In spite of the warm temperatures, he wore an ornate bowl-like hat. "You are westerners?"

"Yes, from America." Blair dipped into the sack Jim carried and offered a peach. "Your country is beautiful. Is that your truck?"

"Sandburg," Jim muttered under his breath as Blair and his new friend veered off the dirt path toward a large, wood sided truck.

Jim followed, seeing the truck Blair was pointing at. And what a truck. The engine area was bright red, the tires typical truck tires, but all similarities to any US truck ended there. The cab and cargo area were wood and painted with more designs than Jim had ever seen before. Along the base hung chains with heart and diamond shaped metal symbols. The front grill had dangles and ornate candlestick-type structures painted gold, and red tassels that swayed in the warm breeze. Jim became lost in the parade of colors. He shook himself out of a near zone.

Blair was smiling at something the man had said, running a careful hand over the paint work, commenting on the color and workmanship.

"You are a teacher, eh?" the driver asked, eating his peach carefully to avoid juice dribbling down his whiskered chin.

"Sort of, I'm still a student, but I teach the easier classes. I wish I had a camera. My students would get such a kick out of seeing your truck."

The driver smiled, his white teeth pure against his rich, walnut-colored skin. "So you are here for school? To go back and tell of our land? Then you must visit the ancient city of Arar. The shrine of Khawajha Khizar is more than a thousand years old. Or visit the Red Fort in Muzzaffarabad. High on a hill, easy to see. I am going there. I can be your guide."

Blair was a goner, caught up in the fever of discovery. Jim took an elbow and tugged. "Another time."

And the reality of their situation came back with a crash. Blair dropped his eyes, his face pinking up as he shot Jim a guilty look. "Oh, right. We're sorta... on a tight schedule. But thanks anyway."

The driver laughed. "You westerners! Always rush, rush, rush."

Blair waved a somber goodbye and trailed after Jim. They joined Buck sitting on the blanket near a scrubby tree. It offered just enough shade for the three of them to rest and eat. Blair was silent as he took his pocket knife and carved into a mango. He made a few cuts, then inverted the fleshy skin and handed the fanned-out cubed meat to Buck.

"Thanks." Buck ate.

Jim felt for his friend. This place was an anthropologist's candy store and Blair had to play the diabetic tourist. "Maybe if we have time, we can take a look at that Red Fort place, Chief."

"Where's the blip now?" Blair leaned over the back seat.

Jim tilted the box so Blair could read the screen. "Same as before. He's close by, but not moving."

"Now what? Wait him out or guess he's heading north?" Buck asked.

"Wait. We'll get some travel information. See what type of supplies we might need." Jim glanced at the crowded back seat. "Although, it's hard to believe you didn't think of everything."

They found a store that catered to mountain climbing expeditions. The clerk was more than happy to talk about the road to the Northern Territory and where to find gasoline and a good meal on the way. Blair picked over the display of packs, boots, climbing gear as well as quality ropes. The walls were crowded with sunburned faces waving at cameras with dizzying backdrops of mountain peaks and deep valleys filled with glaciers. He knew K2, the second highest mountain in the world, was in Pakistan.

"Ready, Sandburg?" Jim appeared with his purchase of assorted maps, looking over his shoulder at the pictures.

"Ever think about mountain climbing, Jim?"

Jim's gaze took in the selection. He shrugged. "The army taught me what I needed to know. Can't see myself doing it again for sport."

Back at the Jeep, Buck unlocked the driver's door and tossed the keys to Jim. "I could use a few hours of sleep."

Jim got behind the wheel. Blair climbed into the front passenger seat. He took a look at the tracking device. "Hey, he's on the move again. Heading north."

"And so are we." Jim started the motor and they left Sukkur behind.

Twenty-four hours further north, Jim enjoyed his second shift behind the wheel, wrestling the jeep over a rock strewn road that climbed between two desert mountains. The heat was brutal and he kept a close eye on the engine's temperature gauge. Even though a thick coat of dust coated the jeep's interior, all the windows were down. Buck snored peacefully in the back seat, oblivious to the heat, the dust, and the steep drop offs next to the road.

"I could take a turn driving, Jim."

"No way."

"Man, you are such a control freak about driving," Blair grumbled as he wiped sweat and dust off his forehead with his sleeve. "I hate being useless."

"You can keep me awake," Jim joked. Between the other cars, their lack of passing sense and the lack of guard rails, a careless driver would be courting suicide.

Blair tensed. "You're getting sleepy?"

"Just yanking your chain. I'm fine."

"Because if you are, man, I could wake Buck. Or better yet, let me drive. Seriously. I can manage."

The kid looked concerned. Jim wished he'd kept his mouth shut. He slowed for a rock the size of a watermelon, passing it when the on-coming lane was clear. "Sandburg, I'm fine. Tell me what our friend is doing."

Blair read the box. "He's making the same progress we are. At least we know he's not riding a camel."

"I don't know, I think those critters might get better speeds. I'm definitely firing our travel agent when we get back to Cascade."

Blair turned in his seat, reaching behind Jim. "Want a water?"

"Sure."

Blair had just twisted off the cap when the road ahead exploded upwards forming a giant crater in the road. Jim cranked the wheel hard as clods of dirt and asphalt rained down, denting the hood. Blair fell against the door. A mini geyser of water spewed from the plastic bottle in his crushing grip. A chunk of road fractured the windshield.

Buck woke with a shout, "Mortars!"

A second explosion ripped away another mass of road.

"I know!" Jim yelled back, flooring the gas pedal. The jeep shot out onto the desert, Jim steering for the distant hills. Gunfire sounded. Jim took a second to glance into the side mirror. A group of men charged over the far hill, firing rifles at a large truck they'd been following. "We're not the target!"

"I still vote for getting the hell out of here!" Blair shouted.

"Second that!" Buck answered, twisted in his seat, riveted on the mini-war breaking out behind them.

"Hold on!" Jim shouted as the jeep crested a small rise...

Only to realize - too late - the hill ended. Jim stomped the brakes. They skidded over the edge, into a steep, deep wash. The bottom rushed up at them. The jeep's tires had no traction.

This was going to hurt.

Blair woke with a killer headache and certain knowledge he was late for classes. His futon had changed into a torture rack during the night and he wondered how it was that he had partied so hardy on a school night.

Man, Jim would never let him hear the end of it.

Rolling onto his side, a wave of dizziness hit and he reached for his glasses. His fingers touched fire and he pulled back his hand with a cry. Opening his eyes brought more pain. He was looking directly into a bright light. Awareness checked in and he grasped the truth. He was not in his room at the loft. He was on his back in the sand next to an overturned jeep, its metal so hot it burned his fingers.

The crash.

"Jim!" Blair sat up in a rush and paused to fight the overwhelming urge to puke. Moving at a slower rate, he made it to his hand and knees, favoring his broken wrist like a clipped bird as he crawled around to the front of the jeep to look through the fractured windshield. "Oh, god."

Jim looked dead. Dark blood stained his face. He could see Buck's leg and arm sticking out from a pile of bedding and duffle bags further back.

"Nonono, ohgodno, notdeadnotdead."

Blair reached carefully through the busted out section of glass, just able to reach Jim's arm. He glided his fingers over Jim's blessedly warm skin until he reached the point above the base of the thumb. Yes! A strong pulse!

Blair shouted Jim's name. It had no effect. Buck was too far away to reach, but his shout caused one of the man's fingers to twitch. They were both alive.

"Okay, okay. Help." Blair sat on his heels to think. Why did thinking take so much effort? He touched his sticky head and looked stupidly at the redness on his fingers. No matter, he had to get help.

They were in a dry wash. He couldn't hear any guns now. Was the fight over?

Yes, it had to be.

Decision made, Blair told his friends to hold on. He crawled toward the edge of the wash and began to claw his way up the ridge. It took a long time and Blair had a feeling his head injury was the reason. He'd gain a few feet in the loose stone and gravel, only to slide back down. Still he made slow progress until he rolled like a drunk over the rim, panting and sweating like he'd run a marathon.

First, he needed to get away from the edge, because if he slipped and rolled back down to the bottom of that wash, he'd really be pissed. Crawling forward, he judged it safe to stand. He pushed off the ground and tried to stand. Walking would be so much better than crawling on three working limbs. On the third try, he managed to get all the way up and swayed with a stupid grin on his face. That accomplished, he shielded his eyes with one filthy hand and wondered how far it was to the road.

Wait. What if the guys with guns were still there? He should circle around; find a place where he could flag down another car. How far would that be? Which way was best? He couldn't remember the closest town. They were in the Northern Territory now, which was riddled with tribes. What had that professor told him? Federal law was only on the roads? Off the road was tribal law?

Blair wished he had water. Crap, the bottles were down by the jeep. He started shuffling forward, wishing he'd thought to bring water with him. Just a few bottles would have been the ticket. His brain felt a little fuzzy around the edges. He stopped and tried to remember what he'd been thinking about.

Right. Men with guns.

Blair turned to this right. He'd circle around those low hills and come out on the road further back.

Hold on guys, Blair thought, licking his dry lips and tasting blood, I'm going for help.

Half a dozen men dressed in white robes and carrying large rifles peered through the broken windshield. Jim lifted both hands carefully, knowing a stupid move would likely get them all killed.

The worst threat was an ugly guy with a hooked nose and a look of pure hatred on his face. He had Jim in his gun sights and it didn't take a genius to see he wanted to pull the trigger. An older man uttered a single command and Jim pegged him as the leader. Hooked Nose lowered the rifle.

"Americans," Jim said, keeping perfectly still, even though his back was starting to tell him in no uncertain terms that his current position was damn uncomfortable.

"Jim?" Buck whispered from the back somewhere and the leader's cold gaze left Jim to look at where the sound had come from the rubble of supplies.

"Don't make any sudden moves. We have visitors," Jim whispered.

The conversation appeared to enraged Hook Nose who, brought his ancient rifle back up to his shoulder and shouted something less than friendly. Jim didn't speak their language but the tone went something like `let's kill them and take what we want.'

But the leader shook his head a second time and pointed at Jim. "Get out."

English. A step in the right direction. "Buck? Can you move?"

"You just told me not to."

"We've been summoned." Jim nodded at the leader and used the steering wheel to lever himself into a sitting position. His world righted itself and he looked around, feeling the panic rise. "Is Blair back there?"

"Don't think so." A pile of MREs slid forward, landing on Jim's lap. "Was he thrown clear?"

"Maybe." Jim shoved the food packs away and stood on the driver's door. He had a choice of trying to climb up through the passenger side or...

Jim made `get back' motions with his hands and lifted his sandaled foot. The glass was ruined and the rubber gasket ready to fall out anyway. With a few careful kicks, Jim removed the windshield.

"Age before beauty," Jim muttered, helping Buck step over the debris and out into the desert. He followed, glancing around.

No Blair, but he could see blood in the sand next to the jeep's roof.

"Move." The leader pointed to the side with his rifle and Jim and Buck moved aside to helplessly watch, under guard, as the others set upon their jeep like pirates enjoying a good plunder.

"The boy with peaches."

Blair blinked the stinging sweat from his eyes. The relentless heat gave him a moment of mercy when a large mass eclipsed the sun.

"H-help..." Blair wondered if the cry made it past his lips. He wondered if he was dreaming or even alive. He had to be alive. Death couldn't be this painful.

Then hands lifted him up and up and now Blair was flying. Too close, too close. The sun would melt his wings!

Blair giggled at his madness and passed out.

"This is so much better."

Jim cut Buck a scathing look.

Shoulder to shoulder, they knelt together in the sand, the heat seeping through their trousers and burning their knees. Their hands were lashed together behind their backs. Their captors had taken everything except their clothes and sandals and Jim was wondering how long it would be before those too were gone.

"I saw where Blair had been lying," Jim answered, watching the two men arguing and knowing they were the subject of the disagreement. "I think he went off to find help."

"At least he's not here." Buck lifted a shoulder to rub his ear. Dried blood caked the side of his head from a shallow cut in his hairline.

"You okay?"

"What, you gonna get me an aspirin and a tall glass of ice tea?"

"Ass."

"Thank you."

Jim looked around the camp of makeshift tents covered by desert colored camouflage. Seeing this place from the air would be difficult. They'd traveled hours in the back of a cargo jeep. Jim figured they were deep into the North West Territory and his sketchy memory of Pakistan told him this was probably not the best place for two Americans to be visiting.

Two guards sat in the shade of a jeep, their rifles resting over their knees as they watched their prisoners. The leader stood under an awning with two other men. They pointed and argued over something on a map spread out over a camp table. A new man exited a large canvas tent, his feet kicking up sand as he ran toward the arguing men. He held up a sturdy radio and the leader took it.

"Always knew that home language course in Pushto would have come in handy," Buck commented. "Or Baluchi, Sindhi or half a dozen other languages they might be using right now."

"Might as well be French for all the good it does us," Jim answered. He had no idea why he humored the guy, except talking reminded him he wasn't alone in this mess and two prisoners might have better odds in escaping than one.

"Now French I can speak." Buck shifted his knees and grimaced. "They do look unhappy. Whatever he's hearing over the radio is pissing him off."

"Look happy to be here, we're on," Jim said as the leader thrust the radio back to the runner and stomped over to their location.

"Get up," the leader snapped.

"Easier said than done," Buck answered with a grunt as he tried to drag one leg up.

Jim had better luck. His ribs were banged up from the steering wheel, but the seatbelt had kept him from needing traction. He got to his feet and watched as their two guards had to haul Buck up from the dirt.

"Move."

They were pushed and prodded toward a tent, and walking into its shade nearly caused Jim to collapse with relief. Before he could gather his wits, the stiff cords were cut from his wrists. Blood rushed back to his fingers, bringing pins and needles.

"Move wrong and we shoot."

"Sounds like a deal," Jim told them. "Do you believe us now? We're not spies."

The tracking box, broken now, sat on a crude table of boards resting between two sawhorses. Their passports and wallets were spread out as well. Jim waved a tingling hand at the stuff. "We're here looking for a man, an American criminal who kidnapped a woman. We have no dealings with your tribal wars."

"Sit."

They sat side by side on a cot. The tent must be used by the leader. It was spacious. A single bedroll was folded neatly at one end. A box filled with cans and water bottles sat in the corner. The guards stood by the flap, their guns ready for any signs of stupidity. Jim had no intention of giving any.

The leader bent down and pulled out two water bottles. He tossed them on the cot next to Jim. "We wait."

Feeling like a child whose hands would be slapped, he carefully reached for the bottles and handed one over to Buck.

Did they believe him now? Or was this a last act of kindness before their execution?

"Wake up and drink."

Drink? Blair liked that command, although he wasn't so fond of the order that came first. Sleeping was such a pleasant pastime that he'd figured he'd have a little more. Whatever he was lying upon was comfortable. He liked the gentle rocking motion.

"I have cool water."

Oh, yeah. He wanted some of that.

He was swaying in a hammock. A beautiful native with long black hair which cascaded about her bare shoulders held out a tray holding a frosty cold glass filled with water. Blair accepted the gift, but his dry throat was more powerful than the liquid and he was robbed. Blair wanted to scream.

"First you must wake up, then you may drink."

Blair opened his eyes for real. Confusion dissipated like smoke. Not a hammock, Blair was in a small, dark room. He lay on a narrow, thin mattress that smelled of stale sweat. A shadow loomed over him. A water bottle touched Blair's lips.

Everything hurt. His muscles screamed as Blair managed to rise to his elbows. His benefactor held the bottle with a steady hand. The water was warm, but it chased the dust from his throat. Too soon it was taken back. Blair bleated in protest and fell back as he tried to reach for more.

A kind voice laughed. "You must be feeling better to fight me."

"Please." Blair croaked, sounding like an old rock singer Naomi used to know who had ruined his vocal cords after a decade of drugs and singing. "Please."

"Just a little."

Blair couldn't rise again, but an arm circled and lifted his shoulders with ease. The bottle came back and Blair got a hand on it as he drank deeply. Three gulps and he was once more fighting for ownership. He lost. He didn't have the strength to win a debate, let along an arm-wrestling match. He was lowered back to the mattress, exhausted.

"Sleep now. Drink more later."

Okay, that sounded like a sweet deal. Blair closed his eyes, hoping the dark-haired beauty would find him again.

*8

The next time Blair woke up he felt awful. Breathing hurt. Someone was forcing him to sit up, urging him to do something but he couldn't make out the words over his misery. When warm water was poured into his mouth, he found the energy to push the bottle away. He tried to lie down, but someone was patting his cheek in a very insistent manner.

Opening his eyes to darkness, for a moment Blair thought he was blind.

"Are you with me now?" asked a strange voice.

"Jim?" Blair asked, not recognizing his own voice. "Buck?"

"You were alone when I found you. Here, time for more water."

A shadow moved around him and the water bottle was back. Blair obediently drank as he tried to piece together his thoughts. He had been traveling with Jim and Buck. Something had happened.

They had crashed.

Blair pushed the water away again. "My friends. We have to find my friends."

"I will help you. Where do they live?"

"No," Blair said, making a mistake by shaking his head. "God, my head..." He touched thick bandages.

"Yes, you are hurt. It was a terrible thing to be part of, these tribal wars. But I think you will heal."

It was maddening to know this voice, yet not see a face. "Who are you?" Blair asked.

"I am just a servant of Allah. You gave me a peach and looked at my truck." The truck driver struck a match and lit a short candle. He sat on a small box next to the cot. His face appeared in the darkness, a contrast of slopes and plains in deep shadows.

"In Sukkur," Blair said, remembering. He shivered as he looked around the small cab. "We're in your truck?"

"Yes. I am Latif, the owner of this truck. I drive food to the stores in the North Territory."

"Blair Sandburg," Blair answered. "Thanks for helping me. But we have to go back. My friends were hurt."

Latif looked surprised. "There was only you. No others."

"We crashed when the shooting started," Blair explained.

"But we are hundreds and hundreds of kilometers from there now. I cannot take you back until I have delivered my food."

Reality set in and Blair swallowed his fear. "H-how long have I been asleep?"

"Nearly a day and a half." Latif's eyes were filled with sorrow. "If your friends were hurt, surely they are dead by now."

Alone in the tent with just the two guards for company, Jim and Buck waited. Dusk had settled over the camp. A lit lantern was brought in and left on the table.

"Any thoughts on who these guys might be?" Buck asked.

Jim had been tossing half a dozen possibilities around in his head. "No clue. You?"

"I haven't been paying attention to this part of the world lately," Buck admitted quietly. "I seem to remember the Brits setting up some type of tribal territory back in the forties. I believe it's still around."

"Sounds reasonable. But the locals have complete reign in the north, right?"

Buck nodded. "Pretty much. Unless these are your average drug dealers sneaking over from Afghanistan."

"Something tells me we'd be dead if that were the case."

"Not if they think we have information they could use."

"Then we'd be missing body parts or something by now."

"Unless they're waiting for the boss to show up to personally interrogate us."

Jim huffed impatiently. "You always this much fun at a party?"

"I find it easier to be pleasantly surprised by any good fortune this way."

A familiar voice in the camp caused Jim to smile and straighten up. "Be prepared to be pleasantly surprised anytime now, Chuckles."

The leader entered the tent with Packert on his heels. "Gentlemen."

Jim started to stand up, but thought better of it when the guard at the entrance lifted his rifle. "What's going on here, Packert?"

"Well, I'm trying to ascertain that now. Unluckily for you, you were caught in a surprise tribal skirmish between warring neighbors. But lucky for you, my good friends here found you before anyone else did." Packert turned to the leader. "These are my men. Thank you for helping them."

The leader nodded sharply and waved the guards off.

"Military?" Jim asked. He stood, stretching to get the kinks out.

"They are tribesman loyal to the malik, the local government." Packert looked around the tent. "Where's Sandburg?"

"He was gone when we woke up," Jim said. "I was hoping you knew."

"Damn." Packert scrubbed his face. He pulled a folded up map from a pocket and spread it out on the table as he spoke. "The government combed the site where the attack took place. If Blair had been there, he would have been taken. I have a contact there. No Americans were detained."

"There was no other man in the area we found your jeep," the leader proclaimed. He tapped the location where Jim had crashed the jeep. "We looked."

"Then he was picked up by someone else." Buck joined them at the table. "Where are we now?"

"We are here." The tribal leader jabbed the map a few inches to the west.

Jim looked at the legend to judge the distance. There was no way they could make it back in the little light they had left. "How do we know which direction he was taken?"

Packert touched a spot to the north. "This would be the closest location with medical facilities and a phone. We could head there and ask around."

"Or we could push on to Muzzaffarabad," Buck countered. "Blair would try and reach it to find us. He's stubborn enough to go after Hamal Khan single handedly if he thought we were dead."

The leader's eyes narrowed. "You are here for Hamal Khan?"

Buck's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "You know him?"

The man spat on the floor.

Moving around made his head spin, but Blair forced himself to climb down from the truck. They had arrived in Muzzaffarabad. Unlike the desert oasis of Sukkur, this town was situated among beautifully landscaped terraces of green trees and carefully cultured gardens that climbed up the sides of the mountains around them. The air was cool, even during midmorning. After the brutal heat of the desert, it seemed like paradise.

Blair studied his surroundings, gnawing his chapped lip in thought. The market here was smaller than Karachi. Children ran between the stalls, men smoked as they sat waiting for customers, shadowy figures of robed women watched from doorways. The scene was very domestic and peaceful.

Using the truck for support, Blair made his way to the back where the truck driver was unloading large boxes of canned goods. Sacks of grain and baskets of fruit were ready to be loaded to take south. "Latif, where can I ask about my friends?"

"You should not be up." Latif paused with a box in his arms.

"I have to find out about my friends," Blair explained as Latif set the box down and guided him over to a large sack of grain and made him sit.

"You cannot walk without falling. Wait for me to finish. We will go together."

The fresh air cleared his head and Blair's current situation became all too clear. He patted his body, realizing he didn't have his passport anymore. Had it fallen out of his pocket during the crash? He still had his money belt, so he wasn't completely without means. While his benefactor was busy, Blair carefully eased away to find a phone.

The buildings, with their multitude of garish signs, lined the street. Red seemed to be the dominating sign color. Large Arabic letters, fluid and graceful looking, held their meanings from him as he wandered under shirts and tunics for sale. Occasionally he would see a word in English, but what he really wanted to see was a payphone. Just as he was ready to turn back to find Latif, a polite sounding voice spoke to him.

"You are American?"

Blair turned to see a tall man wearing a military looking uniform standing on the sidewalk. The man was staring at the bandages on Blair's head. Unsure how to answer, Blair was greatly relieved to see Latif scurrying down the street and calling loudly in Balti. The driver arrived and wrapped an arm around Blair's shoulder, speaking as if Blair were simple minded. There was a gentle admonishment in the bigger man's tone. Then Latif turned and rapid fired an explanation to the officer, even twirling his finger next to his head and nodding at Blair with a laugh.

Blair almost protested.

Latif squeezed his shoulders in a warning. Blair snapped his mouth shut and tried to look confused. It wasn't hard. The cop had more than a casual interest in him. But soon Latif had him dissuaded and wandering off. Blair didn't resist as Latif guided him back toward the truck.

Once out of the cop's earshot, Latif chided him gently. "You would be wise to stay close, my young friend. Do not trust the government here."

"Okay," Blair answered. His head was hurting again.

"Come, my truck is loaded. Let us ask of your friends."

"Eat. Eat."

Blair did his best to appear grateful. "I couldn't. Honestly. I'm full."

They were on the third floor of a brick building above the main street of the bazaar. Below them was Latif's brother's shop, which sold every colorful string of beads imaginable and fabric by the bolts. When they'd first arrived, the brother's wife had insisted on feeding them. Latif had promised after the meal he would find out if any casualties from the attack were taken to nearby hospitals. But Blair had fallen asleep on their sofa and awoke to find Latif and his brother had left without him. Blair tried not to show his irritation. It wasn't his hostess's fault.

In fact, Latif's sister-in-law had done everything within her power to make him comfortable. The apartment was clean and warm, filled with good smells of incense and lingering spices from previously cooked meals. The sofa they'd given over to him formed a comfortable bed and he was certain they'd lined it with every pillow in the apartment.

She pressed a warm mug into his hand. Blair sipped and smiled. "It's very good. Jasmine?"

"Shabaz chia, drink, drink," she bossed as only an older woman could do to a younger man without offending.

Blair settled back into the plush sofa and sipped his tea. He closed his eyes and prayed Jim and Buck were okay.

Sam stood next to a large cargo-style jeep, surrounded by young Pakistani men, talking in broken English and laughing. Upon seeing his cohorts approach, he shook hands with several of the men before jogging over to them.

"Good to see--hey, where's Blair?"

"That's what we're going to find out," Jim answered, passing by and getting into the jeep.

"Dude, you lost him?"

"Sam, not now." Packert waved toward the jeep. "Start her up, we're pulling out."

Jim settled into the backseat, noting with satisfaction their supplies had been carefully repacked and returned to them. As soon as time allowed, he'd break out the first aid kit and check out Buck. They both had injuries that needed cleaning and bandaging. First, however, he needed to find Blair. Jim leaned back to ease his stiff spine. Packert's jeep didn't have a top, but was much more spacious, with a high cage railing. It would hold the five of them and all their gear with ease.

Sam started the engine and flicked on the headlights. Packert shook the leader's hand one more time, promising to keep in touch. Jim drummed his fingers on his thigh, anxious to be underway. It had been one of those `your enemy is my enemy' type of meetings. Luck had smiled upon them. Not only did this group know of Khan, they knew where he lived and spent an hour sharing information. Jim patted his pocket where the map now resided.

Sam drove with more talent than Jim expected, never once getting stuck in the soft sand. They made decent time. Within a few hours, they were back on hard-packed roadways and heading north. The cool desert night caused them to don coats. By the time the first rays of dawn arched overhead, they had passed several mountain villages, only stopping long enough to check the local doctor or clinic to see if Blair had been taken in. With each negative finding, Jim found comfort. His friend was not badly hurt. It never once entered his head that Blair would have gone south. He knew his partner. Blair would do everything in his power to go north.

Jim studied the map carefully. They were within half a days drive to Muzzaffarabad.

"You're sure?" Blair asked Latif.

"Yes. Five dead, all Taliban. No Americans."

It was early morning and Blair had fallen asleep waiting for the two brothers to return. The news was good, but it left Blair unsure what he should do next. He paced the tiny living room, stopping to look between the curtains at the dark street below. His body moved with less pain now. "My friends will go north."

"This is good." Latif yawned widely, getting his bedding arranged on a low cot built with wood and ropes woven tightly rather than a mattress. He sat and pulled off his sandals. "Where will they go? This is a big land."

That was the six million dollar question. Blair rubbed his forehead in thought, wishing they'd made more definite plans. But the whole trip was about using the available resources upon arrival in each town, so their itinerary was secret from the enemy. Then he had it. Snapping his fingers, Blair had an idea. "You said the Red Fort was on a hill?"

"I will take you to the Red Fort. For now, I must sleep a few hours."

Grudgingly, Blair returned to his makeshift bed on the sofa and sat, dropping his face into his hands. He owed Latif more than he could ever repay. He'd wait, give the man his needed rest and be ready to go as soon as he so much as twitched. With a sigh, he tilted sideways and pulled up his bare feet. He snagged the edge of the blanket and drew it to his chest. He would use the time to make plans.

Blair fell asleep thinking about his friends.

Jim stood on a low rise of lawn, studying the main gateway to the Red Fort. Tourists strolled the paved paths, holding their booklets and reading as they walked. He looked to his right, zooming in on the long stretch of park-like acreage to make sure Sam was in place.

The younger sentinel raised a hand and flashed him a peace sign with a quirky grin. "If he's here, we'll find him, Jim."

"Keep Packert in sight," Jim answered softly. Working in tandem with another sentinel had advantages. He looked to his left and spotted Buck. Between the four of them, they had a complete perimeter. There was no guarantee that Blair would come here. Jim was playing out a vague hunch, literally grasping at his only straw. Jim didn't want to draw undue attention to themselves by going to the local authorities, but if they didn't find Blair at the Fort, it would be the next step.

The Red Fort was a large stonewalled fortress built on a knoll at the river's edge. The grounds were landscaped and cared for. Jim hadn't taken the time to read any of the signs explaining the significance of the structure, but he could guess it was old and had something to do with the British.

Rain clouds were building in the early morning sky and a brisk wind kicked up waves on the river. Jim kept his tunic tight to his side. The last thing he needed was some local spotting his gun and reporting him to the police.

A group of Caucasian college-aged kids arrived, noisy and vibrant. They were escorted by two older men and disappeared into the fort's entrance without stopping to read the plaques, obviously part of a private tour.

"Heads up." Sam's warning came just as Jim spotted three uniformed local police officers wander out of the fort. They stopped to light cigarettes before separating. One headed toward Jim's location, looking bored.

Aware that he might seem out of place, just standing and doing nothing, Jim walked. He kept his movements casual, pausing to touch a flower before moving down the gravel path. The soldier's gaze seemed to follow Jim's movement. Jim sat down on a nearby bench.

The soldier moved on.

Out of the corner of an eye, Jim could see Sam standing closer to the street. Because of the curvature of the hill, the street itself was out of Jim's view. Somewhere over the rise, a man shouted. A shrill whistle blew. Jim covered his ears reflexively as he stood. What was going on?

"Jim! Jim, get over here!" Sam's voice carried over the abrupt din of whistles and horns.

Jim ran toward the rise. The street came into view.

A growing crowd milled by the fort's main parking lot. Drivers leaned angrily on their horns, unable to get by. Jim skidded to a stop, unsure. A large, ornately painted panel truck was parked crossways at the entrance of the lot. He could see Packert in the melee. Angry shouts came from the thickest knot of bodies. Men shoved each other.

Jim lost Packert, then spotted Buck. An opening appeared in the mass of bodies. Jim saw a familiar head of curly hair.

Blair.

Jumping into the mob, Jim plowed in, pushing and shoving strangers out of his way. He ignored the angry shouts, the elbows and fists, the blowing whistles. The mood was quickly turning ugly.

"Get off me!"

Jim knew that voice better than his own. He changed course and shoved more bodies aside, spotting his friend. Two men had Blair's arms and wrists pinned to his side. A tall man was doing his best to help, but was hampered by two other men swinging punches and hitting anyone trying to help.

Jim forged ahead, catching one of the assailants in the jaw with his fist.

"JIM!"

The next punch took out the man holding Blair's right arm. A blow to Jim's kidney nearly dropped him. Jim turned in time to catch the hand holding a wicked looking pocket knife. He broke the knife owner's forearm in a quick move. The man screamed.

Blair, his right arm now free, put it to good use. He swung, his fist catching the assailant in the nose with a satisfying crack of breaking cartilage. Blair got his hands on the man's head covering and pulled hard. Now both of Blair's arms were free and he turned, his back bumping into Jim's as they made a defensive stand.

"Good to see you, Sandburg." Jim managed, dodging a foot. He caught it and twisted the leg, watching as the would-be kicker went down.

"Same here, Jim," Blair answered breathlessly over his shoulder.

"You okay?" Jim blocked a fist and jabbed a couple of rabbit punches. He could see Blair moving to intercept an arm swinging a tire iron.

"Never..." The bar clattered to the ground as Blair drove his knee into the attacker's groin. "...better, man."

A body loomed close and Jim instinctively turned toward the new threat.

"Whoa, I'm on your side." Sam took both their arms. "Come on. Packert went for the jeep."

But Blair dug in. "No. I'm not leaving Latif."

Quickly guessing the tall man fighting at Blair's side was Latif, Jim nodded. He caught the man's shoulder. Several uniformed soldiers were converging on the group. "Let's get out of here!"

But Latif flashed a smile. "Go, go! I'm glad Blair has found you, but I must stay with my truck."

Blair tugged his arm. "Please, man. It's too dangerous."

"No, see? The police come now. Allah will protect. Go!"

Jim tugged Blair's arm.

"Thanks, man! For everything!" Blair shouted back, waving.

"You are most welcome!"

They threaded the crowd, following Sam's lead. Many of the rioters were already looking for escape, as if unsure why they'd joined the fight. Jim had seen mob activity before. It didn't surprise him. Somewhere the instigators were slipping away, probably avoiding arrest. No doubt the riot was a plot to take Blair again. Khan had to have spies everywhere. They'd have to be twice as careful.

Finally free from the crowd, Jim hurried Blair toward their waiting cargo jeep. Buck appeared, following to protect their backs. Blair slowed, his gait becoming more uncoordinated.

Jim tightened his hold. "Just a little further."

Blair nodded, breathing hard through his mouth, his right hand clutching his head as if to keep it from falling off his shoulders. The adrenaline rush was wearing off.

From the driver's seat, Packert gestured for them to hurry. Working wordlessly, Buck and Jim lifted Blair up, nearly tossing him into the back. Once more, Jim was thankful that this jeep was larger and roomier. Sam followed Jim into the back seat. Buck took front passenger and Packert gunned the motor.

They pulled out into the street, quickly putting as much distance as they could between them and the fort.

"Stand still."

"I would if you'd stop trying to scalp me."

"Big baby." Jim smiled as he examined Blair's head wound

Blair closed his eyes and leaned into Jim's very solid and very real shoulder. "God, I'm glad I found you."

Jim squeezed his guide. "It's more like us finding you. You're the master at causing riots."

Blair feigned outrage. "Hey, they started it."

"That's what you always tell me," Jim answered and guided Blair over to the chair. "Now sit down and let me check this out."

Blair reluctantly sat. His body vibrated with the urge to do something. "It's nothing, days old even." But he knew Jim wouldn't give up until he'd played medic so he distracted himself with the breathtaking view from their hotel room. The distant mountains, capped with snow, towered over the closer mountains. They formed a protective bowl for the city, keeping them cooler than the lower, desert territory to the south.

"You need stitches," Jim muttered as he carefully smoothed away Blair's dirty hair from the cut on the right side of his head. "I wonder..."

Blair ducked out of Jim's reach, raising his hands protectively. "I am so not letting you do a Betsy Ross on my head, Jim."

"I'd use something to numb the area, Einstein."

Their argument was interrupted by a knock on the door. "Room service."

Jim let Buck in, locking the door behind the man. "Did you get the stuff?"

"I did." Buck held the brown bag up. "Everything on your list."

Blair smiled up at his uncle. "Food?"

"That wasn't on the list," Buck answered, tapping Blair's chin before setting the bag down. "How you feeling?"

"Better now that we're back together. What about you guys? How'd you get away from that road attack? Both of you were out cold when I woke up."

Jim was lifting bandages, cotton balls and a small bottle of iodine from the bag. "Which reminds me, new rule: thou shalt not wander off from accidents. Please make a note of it."

"I was going for help," Blair pointed out. "And there better not be any cat gut in that bag." Oops, Blair caught one of Buck's looks, the one that used to precede the speech about `how sometimes we have to do things that we don't like because it's for our own good.' "Really, guys. I'm fine. A tight bandage to keep my brains from falling out and I'm good to go."

Buck lifted a single eyebrow and looked at Jim. "You want me to hold him down while you sew?"

So much for old alliances. Blair scratched at a spot above his ear where the dried blood itched. "I'd settle for a shower."

Jim shook his head. "You'll have to make do with a washcloth, Sandburg. After I finish with your head."

"I can't believe you cut my hair, man."

Jim rolled his eyes as he packed away the butterfly bandages, gauze, clippers and iodine. "It was your call, Curly. Strips or sutures."

"Some decision." Blair leaned over the hotel room dresser to peer into the mirror. He couldn't really tell from this angle how much hair was gone. "Do I have a bald spot?"

"Was he always this vain?" Jim asked Buck as he uncapped a bottle of aspirin and shook out two tablets.

Blair turned in panic. "Jim!"

"He's yanking your chain, Blair," Buck told him. The man continued running an oil cloth through the barrel of the automatic Packert had smuggled in. "He only clipped five or six strands total. You lose more each week in the shower."

Blair accepted Jim's offer of two aspirins, ignoring his smug grin.

Then Jim heard Sam's voice in the hall and smelled the aroma of spicy chicken. He met them at the door. Sam and Packert set the food on the table. The five men crowded around the fragrant meal and divided up helpings of white rice and curried chicken.

"We asked around," Packert said, "discreetly, of course, and we confirmed the valley Khan is calling home."

"Valley? What valley?" Blair asked.

Jim helped himself to more rice. "We've been busy, met some mutual enemies of Khan's. We now know where he lives."

Blair's eyes bugged. "You're kidding me! What are we waiting for? Let's go!" He stood.

Buck lifted a hand. "Not without a plan."

Reluctantly, Blair sat down. "How about the local police, getting their help?"

Packert shook his head. "Not a good plan. First of all, Khan's compound is in the restricted zone. We'd be shut down before we get started. They wouldn't let us travel without permits and a guide. Plus, we might as well call Khan up and tell him we're coming."

"Then what?" Blair asked. "Military?"

"Same difference," Jim answered. "Their control's weak up here. They've got a current truce with the tribal powers. We're going to have to work something out on our own."

Sam pointed his fork at the rucksack. "We got camping and climbing gear. Shouldn't be hard to tell everyone we're trekking into the free zone, then we can sneak over to Khan's valley and make with the rescue."

Jim rolled his eyes. The plan was simple minded, typical for the `sentinel-dude,' but he had to admit that the basic concept was solid. "We should have enough time to hammer out the details, but yeah. That will work."

They brainstormed late into the night. Between the store-bought maps and the hand drawn one made by Packert's friend, they had a decent topographical overview of the territory. They were looking at a combination of jeep and foot travel. Khan's compound was near one of the major rivers, which flowed from the glaciers deep in the Himalayas all the way to the sea.

Jim traced the path of one large river with a finger, mindful of the contour lines.

"Are you thinking what I think you're thinking?" Blair asked, watching Jim's hand.

"We'd need at least two rafts, or one the size of a tour bus to carry all of us and your mother. As much as I like it, it's not practical. "

Blair nodded. "As long as we don't have to pull another swan dive off the cliff like we did chasing Quinn."

"Okay, Thelma," Jim said, flashing a grin.

"Who's Quinn?" Sam asked around a jaw-breakingly wide yawn. "Or do I want to know?"

"Just a garden variety bad guy," Blair answered. "Walk in the park compared to Khan."

"Walk in the park, Chief?" Jim stood up from the planning table and arched his back. There wasn't much more they could do tonight. They'd be spending all their cash on more supplies come morning. "You ended up with a bullet through your leg."

"Really?" Sam leaned toward Blair. "You got shot? What happened?"

But Blair looked beat. Jim held up his hand. "We'd better turn in if we're going to do this. We'll need rest as much as anything else. Let's save the story telling for our celebration beers back in the States."

"God, that sounds good to me,' Blair muttered, crossing his arms and dropping his head, his shoulders slumped.

His unintended message came through loud and clear, Sam and Packert bid good night and retired to their room on the other side of the hall, adjacent to Buck's. All their rooms were on the ground floor and each window had been checked to make sure it opened. Capture was not an option.

Buck was the last to leave. He laid a hand on Blair's back before going. "Hang in there, kid. We're almost done."

Blair lifted his head, his eyes bright. "Thanks, man. Thanks for coming with us. Thanks for helping."

Buck nodded as he left the room. "Wouldn't dream of missing the fun."

With the door locked and both men stripped down to boxers and t-shirts, Blair crawled into his bed.

Jim sat on the edge of his own bed. "Let's try something."

He was too tired to try anything but sleep. "Now?" Blair pulled his covers up to his waist and leaned against the headboard, noticing Jim's uncertainty. "Hey, man. What's up?"

"Well..."

"Jim? Just say it."

Jim drew in a deep breath and raked fingers through his short hair. "We have one more weapon we can use against Khan."

Blair nodded. "Oookay, that's good. What?"

"Not what. Who."

"Who?"

"You."

"Me?"

Jim nodded. "You."

"Hey, man, could you be any more vague?" Blair asked.

Jim stood and went to the window. "You know how Lanfers acted around you, right?"

Okay, that was decidedly a weird twist in the conversation. "I'm not gonna forget anytime soon. He was a head case."

Jim rubbed his chin. "Agreed, but the point is, he was still a sentinel. He knew what you could do. Sam can feel it too."

Blair shivered. "Feel what?"

Jim moved to sit on the edge of Blair's bed. "I'm just going to say this, okay? I can't explain why or how, only what I felt. When your mother was kidnapped, you did a--"Jim waved his fingers in the air--"thing. It was like fingernails on a sentinel's chalkboard. It really threw Sam and me off. I figure, if you learned to control it, you might be able to use it against Khan."

Blair could only stare in amazement. Jim had to be kidding. He waited for the punch line. The silence stretched thin and brittle, until Blair broke it. "If this is supposed to be funny, man, I'm not laughing."

"No." Jim shrugged. "Like I said, I can't explain it."

Sliding down the mattress, Blair settled into bed and pulled the blankets up to his chin. "Get some sleep, Jim. You're so tired, you're delusional."

Their jeep loaded with backpacks, tents, and food, Jim and Blair rode up front with the others crammed into the back. The road was more of a track, two ruts that ran parallel up a mountainside. It was day two after being united. The time for planning was gone. Crazy or brave, they had started their rescue.

Blair gripped the door, the mountain breeze working to tug his hair free from his ponytail. He trusted Jim's driving, but he wasn't so sure the road was safe. It was easy to see where recent monsoons had washed away whole hillsides. Thankfully they weren't traveling in the monsoon season now.

Blair thought about what Jim had said that first night they were reunited. In fact, he was starting to find the concept more than fascinating.

After all, several cultures had similar beliefs; karma, aura, even the Chinese had a term for a life-force they called `chi'. Was it possible a sentinel had a life-force that could link with another person? Did they really have a connection?

Jim slowed the jeep, pulling over at a wide spot. A few minutes later, a cargo jeep appeared around a blind corner before them and rumbled by. The locals gave them a suspicious study as they passed. With the road clear again, Jim pulled out.

"Sentinel hearing comes in handy," Jim commented, glancing over at Blair. "How's the head?"

"Good."

"You're kind of quiet. You doing okay?"

"I'm fine."

They made camp on the edge of the free zone ten miles northwest of a small village. After talking to the elder, they received permission to leave their vehicle behind and walk on. The rental company would be sending a driver to take it back. They paid the elder's family to keep the jeep safe, then donned backpacks.

Later that day, after covering more than half the distance to the edge of the free zone, Jim squatted by a small stove and waited for the water to boil. During the hike, Jim had caught sight of sheep and goats grazing on the steep slopes above. Now, as they made camp, he had heard the howls of distant wolves on the hunt. The narrow, dry mountain valley held a unique form of beauty, and any other time, Jim would be thoroughly enjoying himself. The mountains around them were wild and rugged, dotted with spruce, oak and pine trees. Tall willows grew in the low areas, where the water collected and flowed. The very air tasted of unspoiled nature. Jim could feel the cool moisture from the distant glaciers. A sentinel could open up in this land; let his senses relax without fear of a car alarm ripping his head off.

"You going to let that boil completely away?" Blair asked, squatting down.

Annoyed that his thoughts had wandered, Jim lifted the pot off the stove with a small cloth. "Have to kill all the bacteria."

Blair busied himself with making their dinner, pouring water into the foil packages holding single-servings of freeze-dried stew. Jim waited, then refilled the pot and returned it to the flame.

"We should hang our food up tonight," Jim suggested.

Blair glanced around them. "Bear?"

"Among others."

The younger man shivered. "Wonderful."

They ate and drank hot tea. Jim let Buck take care of clean up while he and Sam picked a tree with high enough limbs to hold their food sack. That done, they pitched two tents, and rolled out sleeping bags by the light of a small lantern.

"Hey, we screwed up." Blair frowned as he drove the last spike into the ground. "These are two man tents, we're short one."

Buck finished covering their packs with an extra rain poncho. "Not if we play it smart and keep one person on guard during the night. I'll take the first watch. Two hours each ought to do it."

None of them felt like going directly to sleep. Buck took a stroll down to the creek running by their camp. Soon Jim could smell the fragrant whiffs from a cigar. He smiled at the man's tendency to hide his vice from a certain health-nut. Blair and Packert were sitting off to the side, near a grove of pines. Jim shook his head in bemusement at the sight of Captain Packert in a modified lotus position, his eyes closed as he faced a similarly posed Blair.

"What are they doing?" Sam asked, returning from a trip to the area marked as the communal latrine. He dropped down next to Jim, setting a small flashlight on the ground by his knee.

"Just a little information sharing," Jim told him. He had a long section of thin cord tied together at the ends and was trying to remember a game he'd learned from the children in the tribe, from his time in Peru. With a few more loops, he dropped the string off his finger and pulled. All the loops slipped through his fingers as if by magic.

"Whoa, do that again," Sam demanded.

Jim smiled. "That was nothing, watch this one."

When Blair and Packert joined them an hour later, they were amazed to see their sentinels, each with one bare foot, playing with a loop of twine around their fingers and big toe. Blair dropped next to Jim, his eyes wide as he looked at Jim's intricate lattice of string.

"Jim! That's the Chama String Game! Holey cow, I read about it in a 1939 journal by the Royal Anthropological Institute."

Jim rolled his eyes and sighed. "Sandburg, do you have to turn everything into a college lecture?"

Blair hastily unlaced his boot and tugged it off his foot. "Hell, no. Teach me how to do that, man!"

Even with the lost sleep from keeping watch, the group woke refreshed and ready to hike over the pass that would take them out of the free area and into restricted land. Their mood was somber as they walked single file. Jim took lead with Sam at the rear, each sentinel making sure they weren't being watched. The sky was overcast, with clouds hiding the mountaintops.

Jim checked his map frequently and made sure the group drank enough water throughout the morning. He waited until they had slipped over the saddle between two mountains before stopping for food. Lunch was served cold, without use of the stove.

Blair plopped down next to him and wiped his face with a wet bandana. "If it wasn't for the fact we're all probably walking into our deaths, I'd be having a good time here, man. The scenery is amazing."

Jim frowned. "No one is going to die, Blair."

Blair scuffed a hole in the dirt with the heel of his hiking boot. "You don't know that."

"And you go in thinking those thoughts and we're finished before we start."

Blair tucked his chin and took a deep breath. "Yeah, you're right. I'm still freaking."

"Understandable." Jim passed over a granola bar.

"I keep thinking, what if ... she's gone? I know he said she was awake. But we don't know that. She could be--"

"Or she could be fine and waiting for us to get her out of there." Jim unwrapped his own bar and bit off a third. He chewed. He had his own issues with their plan. Unfortunately, it was still the only plan with a chance of working. "Let's just focus on stage one, then we'll go from there."

"Right." Blair balled up the wrapper and stuffed it into his pocket.

They were deep into the restricted territory by night fall. Jim ordered a cold dinner of jerky and Gatorade with large, round crackers of Pilot bread. They didn't talk or play any games as they pitched their tents, assigned shifts for watch and settled down to sleep.

Buck had the first watch. Jim lay on his bedroll, the tent flaps open and listened to Blair's heartbeat as the younger man sat outside, keeping Buck company. Now Jim wanted to `freak,' as Blair would say. It was one thing to make a plan while sitting around a hotel room with locks on the doors and safe inside a big city with hospitals and airports, now they were miles and miles away from cars or houses and the plan seemed ludicrous.

Jim was still awake when Blair slipped quietly into the tent two hours later. Jim had heard Sam take the watch from Buck.

"Wondering when you were going to sleep, Chief."

"Sorry, man," Blair whispered back as he zipped the tent flaps shut. "Did I wake you?"

"No, just thinking."

Blair settled into his sleeping bag.

"We should make a different plan," Jim said.

"Now who's being negative?" Blair teased.

Jim rolled over to face his guide. "I can feel it. We're getting into his territory. When I see a leopard on the mountainside, I don't know if it's real or that bastard's spirit guide," Jim growled.

Blair touched his arm. "Hey, man, calm down. We've - wait, you've seen leopards? Cool! What kind?"

"Sandburg..."

"Anyway, Jim, this is a good plan. It will work."

"Or it won't and you'll be dead."

"You know if anyone stands a chance, it's me. And it's my mom we're trying to save. I should be the one to take the greatest chance."

Jim flopped back onto his back. "I still hate this."

"I know."

They met the small group of armed men the following day, around mid-morning. Jim had been tracking their progress for two hours, but made a point of acting surprised when they suddenly appeared, blocking their path.

Hand outstretched and smiling, Blair fearlessly approached the men. "Hey, we didn't think anyone else would be up here. Is it far to Sho Dara?"

The leader, a tall man with a rawhide face took Blair's hand. "You are in restricted land." He shook once and released Blair's hand with a scowl.

"What? No way." Blair brought out his map, making a big show of unfolding it on a nearby flat rock and making them look. Jim would have smiled any other time. Blair and a map was a marriage between a prince and a fishmonger's wife. Neither would know what to do with the other.

"See? Right here? It says to take Skardu-Thalle pass and we did. So this is--"

The tall man cut him off. "No, this is Skardu-Thalle." He jabbed a broken fingernail at another part of the map.

Blair squinted, frowned and pulled his glasses from his breast pocket. "It is? Really? Dude, how'd that happen?" He looked back at the other Americans, lowering his voice as he leaned toward the Pakistani man. "I'm supposed to be the experienced one in the group. How far back to the right valley?"

The leader snorted, pointed to his left. "A day's travel. Here." He handed his rifle off to his companion and slapped the map again.

Jim watched as Blair got directions, asked for clarification, then finally took out his wallet. "Here, man. Let me pay you. Okay? Just to show how much I appreciate this." He pulled out a handful of bills and blinked in surprise as the leader took it all. "Okay, then. So, we're cool here?" Blair lifted a hand as the men turned away and strode off without comment. "Ah, thanks, again!"

The others relaxed as the group moved across the shallow creek and up out of sight into a wooded draw leading the opposite way they had pointed minutes ago.

Blair licked his lips and turned back to Jim. "Well?"

"You should go into acting, Sandburg. You're a natural," Jim answered.

Buck performed a slow circle, looking up at the mountain slopes around them. "Shouldn't be much longer now."

Jim was forced to agree. And he hated the plan all the more.

Since the locals were aware of their presence, Jim allowed hot meals that night. He had moved everyone slowly toward the new pass their `friends' had shown them that morning. But they traveled slowly and made sure they did not get out of the valley that night.

As he had the night before, Jim prepared the tents and rolled out his bedding. That done, he wandered over to where Blair sat alone with his thoughts.

"Hey."

Blair looked up from the stick he was using to draw shapes in the dirt. "Hey."

"I saved something for us." Jim dipped his hand into his shirt pocket.

Blair smirked. "You'd better not pull out a Wonderburger and a side of fries."

"Or what?" Jim kept his surprise hidden a minute longer.

"I'd have to prove to you how shallow I really am and eat the whole thing."

Jim chuckled. "Nah, my pocket's not big enough." He pulled out a thick chocolate chip granola bar, unwrapped it and broke it in two pieces. "This is almost as bad for you, though."

Blair savored the chips of dark richness. "Ohhh, mmmmm. Fanks, man."

They ate quietly. Finally, Jim swallowed the last bit and brushed his hands briskly. "Say the word and we're out of here. I'll get you to the closest airport and--"

Blair's fingers landed gently on Jim's forearm. He shook his head, his eyes bright. "You know this is the only way."

"Sandburg." Jim shook his head. He knew no such thing and the pep talk he'd had with his friend days ago was just an empty promise churning in his gut.

Blair pressed harder. "No, man. You were right. If we don't believe it will work, we're screwed. Now, I believe. I believe in us. Okay?"

Swallowing the lump of doubt, Jim nodded. "Okay."

Impulsively, Blair threw his arms around Jim and hugged. "See you on the other side, man." He stood up and walked away.

Jim's first reaction was to chase his friend down and drag him back to the tent where he could stand guard over him all night. He quashed it ruthlessly. Instead, he watched Blair walk down to the creek, stoop down to wash his hands, turn and wave once more, then follow the creek bank downstream, toward the area they had deemed would work for sanitation purposes.

Jim closed his eyes and listened.

Blair's footfalls on the rocks, his breathing, his heartbeat, then... nothing, complete silence and Jim knew.

"Okay, let's get ready," Jim whispered standing up. "They'll be coming now."

Sam rushed out of his tent, followed by Packert. Buck joined Jim by the packs, taking his high powered special ops, military issued rifle from Packert. The others carried stubby semi-automatics favored by combat veterans.

Phase one was over. Phase two had begun.

Left temple throbbing, Blair wished he could claw the stifling cloth from his face. His wrists were bound behind his back. He was upside down and powerless to do anything but groan. Something hard dug into his gut, making breathing difficult and making it difficult to keep his dinner from spewing out. Since a burlap cloth had been shoved half down his throat, he didn't want to think about throwing up right now.

Hands grabbed his arms and pulled. More hands found convenient handles at the waistband of his pants. Blair twisted, angry with the manhandling, shouting into his gag.

Nothing stopped them from lifting him off one bony perch - someone's shoulder maybe? - and slapping him face down over something wider, the rough transfer knocking the wind from him. His next breath filled his nose with a musty, sweaty animal scent. Ropes looped around his body, one at his waist, another around his upper thighs. They didn't want him slipping off. Then the warm contact of a rider pressed close, accompanied by stiff creaking of leather and sharp hooves on rocks.

He groaned with new pain and the horse broke into a kidney-jarring canter.

"I smell two, maybe three. One there and two circling around us." Jim pointed to his right and left. They were not yet surrounded.

"Jim and Buck, flank out. Look for high ground. Sam, with me," Packert ordered before they broke away and slipped into the night. Jim led Buck out of the camp, climbing up a slope with swift, stealthy movements, noting with relief as Buck followed just as surely.

Jim tried not to dwell upon Blair's situation.

Hunkering down behind a boulder, Jim whispered into Buck's ear. "Two men, should be within arm's length in five. Wait for my lead."

Buck nodded.

They came out of the night, crouching low, rifles held loosely in their hands, a common mistake of inexperienced killers. They grinned in anticipated delight and any remorse Jim held for what was to come dissolved. Khan had sent them not only to kidnap his guide, but also murder the rest of them.

Waiting for them to pass, Jim slipped out from his hiding place with Buck on his six. The killers must have somehow sensed the movement. Jim knew neither of them had caused a noise. Spinning, the assassins brought the rifles up. Jim found himself seconds away from being shot in the face. He reversed his rifle and used the stock to smash the first man's nose, driving up with enough force to lift him off his feet. The assassin flew backwards, knocking into a pine and slumping to the ground. Buck took a more hands-on approach with his man, his punch stunning the man enough to allow wrenching the rifle away. But Buck's opponent got both hands around the ex-SEAL's throat. Buck threw himself backwards, smashed his booted feet against the killer's chest and flipped him up and over. Twisting, and back on his feet almost before the man landed, Buck moved in with two rapid-fire punches that left his man boneless in the dust.

Jim nodded as Buck straightened, breathing hard. "Not bad for an old man."

Buck reached down to retrieve his gun. "At least I know mine's still breathing."

Jim looked over at the man he'd hit, checking and finding no heartbeat. His opponent's head was bent at an unnatural angle. A small black box was strapped around his waist. Jim took it, marveling at the compact size of the white-noise generator. "Let's get back."

The sharp snap of a rifle sounded, bouncing off the mountain in delayed echo, then three more. Jim immediately dialed his hearing up to check on Packert and Sam. He could hear Sam's calm whispers, asking if Packert was good, then Packert's assurance that everything was fine.

"Jim?" Buck asked.

Jim nodded. "The last three shots were for show."

Buck bent down to pick up the two rifles. They bound Buck's prisoner's hands behind his back using his own rope-like belt and a bandana to gag him. Rousing him with slaps to the face, they pulled him to his feet and pushed him back toward the camp. Sam and Packert stood anxiously waiting.

"Everyone okay?" Packert asked.

"We're good." Jim nodded at their prisoner. "We have one escort more than happy to help us. Yours?"

"Dead," Packert answered simply. He held a second white noise generator in his hand.

They hastily broke camp and stuffed the tents and bags into a crevice between boulders left by an ancient rockslide. Keeping their food, water and extra ammunition, they donned their lighter packs, and set off to find the kidnapper's trail.

Next time I let myself get kidnapped, I'm wearing a freaking down parka, Blair thought as he shivered. Except for the heat absorbed from the horse he was strapped to, he was sure he would have turned into a human icicle by now.

His kidnappers stopped for nothing. Blair couldn't get comfortable. All his energy was used to keep from throwing up. Having his head upside down for hours was a living hell.

Gradually he became aware of radiating warmth on his back and butt. The sun had risen. How much further would this guy ride? Blair tried to remember the map Jim had shown him. Jim and Packert had thought Khan's encampment was over the next mountain pass. It would have taken more than a day to walk it, how long by horseback?

His question was answered. The hoof beats changed from the soft clump-clump of ground to sharp clop-clop of a hard surface. They stopped. Voices called out and answered. Blair didn't recognize the language. The horse swayed as the rider in front of Blair swung off, then hands were working on his ropes.

Blair was pulled sideways off the mount and thrown over a broad shoulder.

"Muuugffff! Mf muugh aauugh!" Blair muffled into his gag.

To his embarrassment, the person carrying him slapped his ass. "Shut up."

Okay, Blair could do quiet.

After a lifetime of ten minutes, his human courier stopped. A brief knock, door hinges creaked and they moved forward again.

"Sir, we have him."

Blair's hands formed tight fists as the familiar, sick feeling washed over him. He didn't hear the footsteps until they were quite close and the cloth sack was removed.

Blinking into the brightness, Blair's eyes watered as a hand fisted his tangled hair and pulled his head up.

Khan.

Blair forced his eyes not to close. He glared back at the man, ignoring the predatory smile and possessive gleam in his eyes. Khan turned him loose.

"He stinks. Clean him up."

Blair was carried out of the room.

"He's slowing us down," Jim said, glaring at the dark-skinned man shuffling along with his hands tied behind his back.

"Yeah, I know." Packert dragged a dirty palm down his face and sighed. "Listen, you two go on. Sam and I will bring this guy along and meet you at Khan's compound."

Jim nodded, ready to move out.

"Let's just leave him," Sam suggested. "We'll tie him to a tree or something."

"We might as well kill him," Buck answered the younger sentinel. "Save the animals the trouble."

Up until then, their prisoner had refused to communicate with them, in English or his own language. Now he watched them discuss his fate, his eyes flicking from man to man, face unreadable.

"Works for me," Jim said, making a point of checking his weapon.

"I'm not into cold-blooded murder," Packert answered.

"I'll do it." Buck slipped out of his pack, dropping it next to his feet on the trail. "I'll catch up with you three later."

"I will keep up."

Jim lifted an eyebrow. "He speaks."

"I can." The man glared, lifting his chin defiantly. "I am not one of Khan's men. We were only working for his reward money."

Jim knew by his heartbeat he was telling the truth. He slipped a long knife from his belt and turned the man around, slicing through the ropes.

Jim leaned forward. "You work for us, and I'll double it."

"You lie." He rubbed his wrists.

"I'm not lying. You hire on with us and I'll personally see you're paid."

"Jim, you sure about this?" Buck whispered, stepping back as if waiting for their prisoner to strike out and try to overpower them.

Jim ignored him, not breaking eye contact with their captive. "But if you even think about double crossing us, I'll shoot you before you can make your first move."

The prisoner looked Jim up and down, tilting his head. "You are like him. You have Allah's favor."

"What?" Jim asked.

"His gifts." The man pointed to his own ear and eyes. "You are like Khan."

"How well do you know Khan?" Packert asked.

Now that the man had found his tongue, he shrugged with ease, seemingly willing to cooperate. "He came to our lands two years ago. Built a large fort. Fought and killed for the valley. Hired many tribesmen. He is rich. He pays well. He is known to have special favors from Allah. He is better than a normal man." Looking at Jim again, he continued. "You heard us even though we wore Khan's special machine. You have followed this trail all night without a light. You are like him."

"I'm better than him," Jim promised. "Now, will you work for me?"

The man nodded. "I will. I know a faster way to get to Khan."

Jim nodded. "Show us. But, remember what I said. I even smell a hint of a double-cross and I shoot to kill."

The man looked like he believed.

Blair fought the hands ripping at his clothes. His tormentors laughed. Open palms slapped his sore face, smacked his upper legs, stomach and groin whenever they had the opportunity, but when a blow landed on the splint to his broken wrist, Blair cried out and curled into a miserable ball, all the fight in him gone.

Naked and shaking with fury, Blair endured the cold blast from three garden hoses. He was outside, standing on a concrete pad with a drain hole in the middle. Blair tucked his face in to avoid the water's blast. He flinched when coarse brushes attacked his body. The scrubbing went on with more laughter until they felt enough of the road dust had been knocked off.

Hands lifted him by the arms and he was dragged across the uneven tile and thrown into an outside hot tub of sorts. The change from cold to hot stole his breath. As his feet found purchase to stand, washcloths attacked.

"I can do it!" Blair sputtered, pushing a cloth off his chest. "Back off!"

A hard slap across his face knocked him off his feet. They pulled him out of the water by his hair, laughing when Blair coughed. Checking for missing teeth with his tongue, Blair offered no more resistance and endured. They washed him everywhere, then went to work on his hair and examined the wound on his head. The scientific part of his brain noted the soap and shampoo appeared to be scent free.

He was being groomed for Khan.

After they were satisfied, they hauled him out. Dizzy and disorientated, Blair swayed as he was dried and dressed in expensive feeling cotton pants and a long tunic. Thick felted slippers went on his feet. Someone had aid supplies and put new butterfly strips on his head. His hair was combed out. His fingernails buffed.

Finally, it was finished.

He was pushed and shoved back into the building, down elegant corridors over colorful rugs and back into a lavish office with a panoramic view of the northern mountains. Khan, sitting behind an oak inlayed desk, looked up from a stack of paperwork. "What took so long?"

The spokesperson for the three men who guarded Blair answered. "Sir, he was filthy."

Blair's courage to respond was sidetracked as one of them hit the back of his knees. Blair fell to the carpet with a cry, landing on one hand and his knees. He heard Khan's growl and looked up in surprise.

"No one disciplines him without my permission," the sentinel barked out, slamming a fist on his desk.

Three prompt `Yessirs' resounded and Blair saw them all take a step back. Blair smiled inwardly. He could use this.

Sitting back on his heels, Blair faced his enemy. "Where's Naomi?"

Khan leaned against the leather arm of his chair. "You speak when I tell you to."

"Hey." Blair pulled one knee up, getting ready to stand. His balance was iffy and he really wanted something to drink. "We had a deal. I come. You let her go."

"Gag him."

Blair fought the cloth gag and lost. They pulled him to his feet and held his arms. His splint felt loose and sharp bolts of pain traveled up his left arm. Blair flinched and groaned in their grasp, nearly falling.

Khan regarded Blair with a frown. "Take him to medical... and do something with that hair."

Yanked from the room, Blair tried to watch his surroundings, knowing a mental map of the house would be useful when Jim came. He knew without a doubt that Jim would come. So he didn't struggle as they dragged him through the large, mansion-like rooms, focusing on the turns and passage ways.

It was obvious when they left Khan's personal area. The rugs no longer squished under his slippers. The art work was absent. The muted, sentinel-friendly colors of the walls turned institutional white. The guard on his left arm purposefully squeezed his splinted wrist, grinning when Blair moaned and stumbled. When they made the last turn and entered a lab-like room, they tossed him in. Blair fell in a heap, curling around his left arm as he landed.

"The other side of the world and we meet again."

Blair looked up the shapely legs of his new tormentor.

Doctor Chardonnay.

Wonderful.

He dropped his head to the floor with a clunk.

Their guide proved his worth, showing them a shorter way. Still, it was late in the morning before they struggled over the cragged pass, high above the tree lines, and gazed down at the small valley holding Khan's fortress.

"Damn, it's a freaking castle," Sam said with awe.

Jim nodded. It didn't have turrets and a moat, but it was sturdily built with stone and surrounded by an impressive wall. A virtual village lay protected within. Getting in would be a challenge. A river flowed off to the east of the compound. A smaller structure sat on the banks, the obvious water supply, maybe even some sort of power generator.

"How are we getting in?" Sam asked.

"I really hate it when you two forget we don't have super vision," Packert grumbled. "Report."

And surprisingly, Sam gave a very detailed, concise and brief report on the compound. Once again, Jim could see the fledgling dynamics of their pairing.

"Okay, I figure it will take us the rest of the day to reach it," Packert said. "We'd better get moving."

Jim raised a hand. "Hold it." He looked at their prisoner. "It's time to pay him off."

The Pakistani man's eyes narrowed with suspicion as Jim reached for his waist. But Jim pulled out his money pouch and counted bills. He thrust a wad out.

"Remember, I can hear a sand flea move from twenty meters away. You don't have a weapon or that little box anymore. I hear you circling around in front and you're a dead man."

The man snatched the money from Jim's hand. "I wash my hands of all of this."

"Good thinking." Jim jerked his head back down the way they had just come. "Get out of here."

Slipping a little on the loose shale, the local scurried back down the pass. Jim and the others watched a moment until he was completely out of earshot.

"You sure that was the best thing to do?" Buck asked.

"We can't afford to bring him with us. He was telling the truth when he claimed to be a mercenary. He just wants to be paid." Jim glanced at Sam. "We make sure we listen for a double cross."

"Right." Sam adjusted his pack.

"Okay, I said the rest of the day to get there," Packert announced, a determined glint in his eyes. "Let's cut that in half."

They double-timed it down the pass.

Amazingly, Blair felt better.

He lay on a real hospital bed, his good wrist handcuffed to the rail. Chardonnay had removed his gag and sent his tormenters away. She had two beefy male attendants who could take him easily, but they didn't seem to get their chuckles out of causing pain, so Blair considered that a major plus.

"Well, your wrist is trying to heal," she said, studying an x-ray on the illuminated panel mounted on the wall. "Your splint needs a little repair work and I'll tell Khan not to give you anything too physical for a while." She snapped the film down and returned to Blair's bed. "Any other problems?"

Blair hadn't said much, even with the gag removed. He was exhausted and simply could not find the energy required to converse with her. Instead he rolled his head away and closed his eyes.

"Come on, Blair. I'm not the enemy here." She laid a cool hand on his cheek.

Blair shuddered under her touch.

"How about something to eat?" She snapped her manicured fingers and Blair heard footsteps leaving the room. "Here, open your eyes and drink."

A straw touched his lip. Blair pulled back in surprise, seeing she held a glass.

"It's just sweetened tea. Something to hydrate you," she promised.

Tentatively, Blair tasted. She was right, sweet tea. Not too sweet, just right. Blair drank thirstily, relishing the way it soothed his dry throat. When it was gone, she set the empty glass aside. Blair licked his lips, eyeing her covertly as she rolled a steel tray holding his splint around to the other side of the bed and gently lifted his broken wrist. She set it on the tray.

"Okay, let's see what we can do for this wrist. I could have a new splint made, or even go with a cast. Hmmmmm," she said, pausing. "Maybe I should just cast it."

Blair tuned her out and focused on nothing. He didn't care what she did. Her touch didn't hurt and soon he felt himself floating. It wasn't until he couldn't focus that he realized something was wrong. He moaned in fear.

"It's okay. Don't panic, Blair," she told him when he tried to sit up on the bed. She could hold him down easily with one hand. "It was just something to relax you."

`Bitch!' Blair wanted to scream at her, but couldn't. Even his anger was drugged. God, he was such a fool.

"Time to use the white noise." Jim flipped the switch on the box strapped to his waist. A low hum vibrated through his gut and his world went quiet. "Shit."

"What?" Packert asked, concerned.

Jim unclipped the box and passed it back to Buck. "I forgot how these things smother my hearing." He looked at Sam. "Let's do it like we did at Dupont's compound."

Sam nodded, passing his box to Packert. He explained, "You guys wear them. Jim and I will stay just outside their range. Then we can duck back in if Khan gets close. But when we're inside, our hearing is useless."

Packet nodded, clipping the box onto his belt. "Okay."

They had made it within a few miles of Khan's domain. Jim didn't want to take any chances. If he were Khan, he'd have guards patrolling the valley. So far they hadn't seen any, but it didn't mean they weren't there. The problem they were having was with the terrain. Jim was used to the dense forests of the Northwest and Peru, where a man - or a team, for that matter - could move without being seen. In the Northern Territory of Pakistan, the trees grew in random clumps with way too much space between. Advancing with hopes of not being sighted took time.

"We'll take point then," Jim decided, nodding to Sam. "You two have our six. Shoot anything that looks unfriendly. We'll sort out the rest later."

Unable to stop them, Blair submitted to a complete and thorough examination. Chardonnay made notes in a file, happily humming as she took samples, measured, catalogued and basically violated everything Blair owned, his body, his spirit and his faith in human nature.

She kept the procedures as painless as possible, apologizing when the needle went beyond any numbing agent she used. Blair tried to endure. He tried not to let them know when it hurt.

Finally, she leaned over him and dabbed away his tears with a tissue. "Okay, Blair. I'm all done." Then to prove that her idea of done and his idea of done were two different things, she picked up another syringe. "This is just something to help you get a few hours of sleep."

Blair woke up in a new room.

He was warm and laying on something pillowy. Dim lighting showed tapestry-covered walls. Experimenting, he raised his arms. His hands were free. His left wrist owned a brand new, tightly fitting cast. He rolled his head to the left, seeing where the light originated. The fourth wall was really not a wall, but a row of twisted, ornate iron bars that went from the ceiling to the floor. Beyond that was a plush living room cloaked in shadows. A heavy curtain covered a large section of the wall, allowing just a little bit of sunlight to seep in where the panels met.

Clumsily rolling up onto one good elbow, he saw an alcove with a corner sink and a toilet, blocked from view by a partial wall. But otherwise, he had no other features to his jail cell.

Welcome to your gilded cage, Blair thought, tossing the embroidered silk comforter off and sitting up. He managed to get his legs over the edge of the narrow bed. Everything hurt. Joints felt swollen and abused, his muscles ached, and his head nursed a hangover.

Stumbling toward the sink, he turned a spigot and slurped until his thirst was gone. No mirror. Something bumped his ear causing him to run a hand over his head. Dozens of braids hugged his scalp in rows that fell from his head to brush his neck. Freaking wonderful. Blair checked the ends for beads but only found small rubber bands. Could have been worse. At least he didn't have bells on the ends. A door to the main room opened. Blair stumbled toward the bars and held on. He gripped the sturdy scrollwork as he watched Khan flick the wall switch and enter the room.

The brightness caused him to duck his head and squint.

"You're awake," Khan stated, going to an elegant side bar. He took down a heavy glass and started concocting a drink, picking bottles with care. "Emily tells me you're free of disease. Your arm should heal without complications."

"Where's my mother?" Blair asked, too weary to mask his desperation.

"She's here." Khan carried his drink over to the bars, sipping as he openly eyed Blair, making him feel like a new exhibit at a freak show. His gaze lingered on Blair's hair.

"Is she okay?" Blair whispered, fighting the urge to back away.

"She's fine." Khan reached a hand through the ironwork and fingered a braid. "She doesn't have any of this."

Bile bubbled and rose. Blair closed his eyes. Uncontrollably, his fingers tightened, hurting as the sharp bits of ironwork buried into this skin. By sheer willpower, Blair kept himself from knocking the touch away. It was not the time to resist. He needed to find Naomi.

Khan sighed and retreated to the sofa. "I hate what you do."

"I want to see her." Blair was desperate to keep the man on track.

"Tell me how you do this." Khan's voice dropped, threatened.

"I'll make you a deal," Blair answered. "You take me to my Mom and I'll explain." Blair left out the part where he would have to admit the explanation wouldn't fill a sixty second time slot.

"You explain everything you know and I won't give the order to cut out your tongue and make you watch your mother eat it."

The sun was low in the sky, touching the tips of the distant mountains when Jim ordered them to stand down. They had the upper ground, a wooded rise in the valley floor. Jim liked the view it provided of the compound. They could watch the activities within the walls without danger to themselves.

"Here." Buck approached with a tin mug of stew.

Jim took it, testing the temperature with his palm. Buck had made sure it wasn't too hot. He knew without asking that they'd used chemicals to heat it. He could smell them on Buck's hands. Jim ate quickly, never taking his gaze off the distant compound. There wasn't much going on. The guards mostly patrolled inside the walls. He'd already noted how the power and water feeds were buried, as he judged the strengths and weaknesses of Khan's retreat.

"Nighttime operation?" Buck asked. He'd dropped down next to Jim.

"Yeah." Jim set the empty cup aside. "Question is, can we afford to wait twenty-four hours to get an idea of his nighttime routine?"

Buck scratched the sweat streaked dirt drying on his brow. "Can you hear anything?"

Jim shook his head. The distance was greater than he wanted to try without Blair at his side.

Buck drew a breath, releasing it in controlled measures. "Khan wouldn't--"

"He wouldn't go through all of this just to kill him," Jim stated with absolute surety.

"How do you know?"

Annoyed, Jim gave him a brief glance. "He's too valuable."

"Why?"

Jim shook his head. "Blair's always told me my sentinel ability is genetic. Or at least that's his theory. I think it's the same for the guide and he's got it big-time."

"What about Packert? Is he guiding Sam?"

Jim nodded. "Yeah, I think so, but it's not as strong in him."

Buck's brow furrowed. "Then why doesn't Sam try and take Blair from you?"

Snorting, Jim shot the other man an irritated look. "Hell, Buck, we're not animals, although the jury's still out on Khan. Sam knows I'll rip his head off if he tries anything."

Buck chuckled. "Sounds like ape behavior to me, Ellison."

"Khan, darling - oh, I didn't realize you... hello?" A very healthy Naomi entered the room in a swirl of color and grace.

Blair fell against the bars, breathless with relief. "Naomi!" He stretched an arm through the bars to reach the most important woman in his world.

Khan stood. A smug look formed on his dark face. "Hello, dear."

Naomi stood as if confused, her attention on Blair.

"Naomi, are you okay?" Blair demanded. Why was she looking at him like that? Icy fear replaced relief.

She looked at Khan. "Who... is he?"

And Blair could only watch in horror as his mother accepted his enemy's hand and left the room under his protected arm.

"Mom!" Blair screamed, too late. The door was closed. He tugged helplessly at the bars. "MOM!"

Near midnight, Jim opened his eyes and cast his senses about. He sat under a tree, his back against the rough trunk. Buck glanced at him, but didn't comment as Jim stood and stretched. Packert slept on his bed roll. They hadn't pitched tents as the sky had remained clear long after the darkness deepened.

"You're half an hour early," Buck commented.

Jim shrugged. "I've slept enough."

Climbing a small knoll, Jim knew Sam would hear him coming, and as expected, Sam was waiting for him. He sat comfortably, huddled in his coat, his attention on the compound below.

"Hey, everything's quiet."

Jim settled in to watch. "Go catch some sleep. We move out in four hours."

"I've been thinking about our plan..."

"What about it?"

"I know how it can be better." Sam was drawing in the dirt with a stick. "But we'd need to talk Steve into it."

Jim raised an eyebrow. "Tell me."

Packert was not pleased with the plan, but the others overrode his objections and when dawn arrived, Jim and Sam were once more paired, moving forward, keeping just on the fringe of the white-noise generator that Buck and Packert carried.

Now they were within normal sight of the perimeter walls to the compound. The first rays of dawn played like a growing beacon over the eastern mountains. Jim stopped behind a boulder, dropped to a knee and checked his gun. "You ready?"

"Yeah." Sam sounded sincerely sad.

Jim felt a muzzle dig into his back. He turned halfway. "What the hell?"

"Sorry, dude. I'm not into suicide missions." Sam reached around slowly and took Jim's rifle, then stood and backed away a step.

"Why the hell didn't you just say so?" Jim hissed, staying crouched. "You didn't have to come."

"Look around, Jim. Look at what he has here."

"This was your plan all along, wasn't it?" Jim snapped.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Tell me again how much dough I'll make by being the honorable sentinel? I mean, come on. You can't be that stupid. He's living large and he's untouchable. I want that."

"You're being stupid, Sam!" Jim growled.

"Stand up," Sam ordered, his tone hard. "Move. Once Khan sees me bringing you in, he'll let me join him."

"God damn it!" Jim moved awkwardly, making himself off-balance. He reached down to grab a handful of dirt.

"Ah, ah, ah!" Sam stepped back out of reach. "Don't, Jim. Be a good prisoner. Move out."

So it was an easy and peaceful entry into the compound.

Jim held his hands high. Sam walked behind him with a proud look. "Bring me Khan! I have a gift for him!" he called out to the armed guards watching suspiciously from within the open gates.

Khan watched the betrayal unfold from his observation room, a comfortable den with a three hundred and sixty degree view of the valley beyond his walls. The two sentinels had been spotted by his guards, and Khan had ordered the white noise generators to be turned off so he could hear them. He radioed down to the guards to allow the two men to enter, but shoot to kill if they failed to follow orders. In afterthought, he ordered the generators turned back on. Allowing a smile, he descended the stairs. He had expected some type of rescue attempt, not surprised to see Ellison had somehow survived the mercenaries he'd hired to bring him the guide. The unexpected action by the young sentinel was just so much more icing on the cake.

Entering the main compound, Khan was pleased to see his men had efficiently searched and taken all weapons. Both men knelt in the dirt, their hands on their heads, fingers interlaced.

"This seems familiar," Khan commented.

Jim Ellison's face was blank and cold. "Where's Sandburg?"

"My property is not your concern."

"He'll always be my concern," Jim answered. "That's the difference between being a friend and being a psychopath."

Dismissing the cop, Khan looked to the younger man. "Why are you here?"

Sam shrugged. "I want to join you."

"You're a traitor."

"Hey, man, they stuck me with that asshole, Dupont. How long would you have put up with him?" Sam lifted his chin in defiance.

Khan nodded. The kid had a point. He'd told Paraho's CEO to terminate that idiot over a year ago. He'd been an embarrassment to the program. "Where are the others?"

He watched both men react differently to his question. Ellison's face hardened with anger while the other's saddened. Khan smiled, perhaps his mercs hadn't been entirely unsuccessful after all. He waved a hand toward a low cinderblock structure in the middle of his compound. "Lock them both up."

"Hey!" Sam's face reddened.

Khan shook his head. "You expect me to believe you? Why?"

"I brought him in!"

"You've proved you can change sides twice. Why not a third time?"

Ellison smirked at Sam. "I hope you eat the first bullet, kid, so I can watch you bleed out into the dirt."

"I'd rather die trying to get somewhere than waste my talent working with pansies for pennies," Sam shot back.

Khan reconsidered his decision. Frankly they looked like they would kill each other if locked in the same room. He turned, addressed the guard in charge. "Lock up the older one. Bring the kid into the house."

Blair jumped off the bed as the door opened, rushing to the bars. It was Khan, two guards and some other guy. The guards took their stations by the door. The new man with Khan whistled lowly in wonder as he looked about the large sitting room.

Wait - Blair knew that hair. "Sam!"

The young Sentinel cast a brief look his way. "You kept him."

Khan shrugged. "He's the whole reason I took the woman. Of course I kept him."

Sam wandered closer to the bars. "You know, I think they totally screwed up when they dismissed the whole guide thing," Sam said over his shoulder to Khan.

Blair backed away. Sam looked too needy, too... something. Jim never looked at him like that, and having two other sentinels in the room was beginning to totally freak him out.

Khan was fixing a drink. He picked up the heavy crystal glass and swirled the amber contents around. The clinking ice made Blair shiver. Khan joined Sam at the bars, his dark, soulless gaze burning into Blair's courage.

Mouth dry and knees weak, Blair continued to back away until his shoulders hit the far corner of his small cell. He hated himself for showing his fear. What had happened to their plan? Why was Sam here? Why was he acting like he was friends with this guy? Where was Jim?

Another wrack of shivers hit. His head was really starting to hurt.

"So, what are you gonna do with him?" Sam asked.

Khan wandered over to a plush, leather recliner and sat down. "He's mine. That's all you need to know."

Sam turned away and followed the other man over to take a seat in a more formal, less comfortable chair.

"Tell me why I should let you join me," Khan commanded, elbows braced on the chair arms. He interlocked his fingers and studied Sam closely.

Eagerly, Sam leaned forward. "You know I'm good. You have to have read my reports. Paul Dupont was a fool. He was so out of it, he thought his shit smelled like roses, man. I've been out in the real world. I can be your right-hand man. I'm not looking to be the head dog, ya know? I can take orders."

"What about your guide? There's no way he'll join us."

Sam looked truly pained. He guiltily glanced over at Blair. "Steve's dead. So's the other guy. We got ambushed. Ellison and I were the only two that heard it coming. We got away."

Blair lunged at the bars. "You're lying!"

Khan's right hand moved, flipping up a cover on the arm of his chair. He fiddled with something unseen. Instantly, two armed men entered. Khan waved a hand toward the cage. "Take him to the doctor. I'm tired of his noise." He played with the control panel in his chair arm again and Blair heard a click.

Blair pulled back as the men approached. They entered his cage. "No!" Blair kicked out at the closest guy, missing when he dodged. The other grabbed an arm. Blair swung on him, trying to pull free. He landed a solid punch but the guy didn't even flinch and his cohort moved in again and they had him. They yanked him out of the cage, lifting him off the ground as they carried him through the room.

"Sam! How could you do this, man? We trusted you! Jim trusted you!" His voice broke as he screamed his last message while they carried him out of the room. "I'll kill you! You hear me? You're a dead man!"

Sam's attention never left Khan.

In the hallway, Blair's feet were allowed to touch the flagstone floor. The hands on his biceps tightened painfully as he was pushed along between them. Still frustrated, Blair kicked out, catching the man on his left with a solid blow to the shin.

His victim cursed and Blair steeled himself for the blow sure to come. But Khan's soldiers had been well trained. The man only shot Blair a venomous glare. His partner shifted his hold and snatched up a handful of braids, lifting Blair to his tiptoes.

"Okay! Okay!" Blair yelled, his eyes tearing up as he felt his scalp trying to separate from his skull. He was really hating these damn braids.

The window was the single light source in Jim's tiny prison. The floor was rough, uneven concrete. Given enough time, he might be able to pry into the mortar between the thick bricks and break out, if he had something like a spoon or even a long nail. But he had neither. The low ceiling prevented him from standing up. The walls were spaced close enough that he could reach out his arms and touch them, not leaving enough room to lie down. They'd dropped him in from above and closed the metal lid with a clang, followed a few seconds later by the snick of a padlock. He could tell by the lack of heartbeats that he didn't have a guard.

He dialed up his hearing further, trying to catch some sound to tell him what was happening with Blair or Sam. Nothing. Khan must have white-generators working, making this place easy on his senses. That could be both a blessing and a curse.

They'd taken his watch, but Jim had always been good at judging time without help. It had to be two pm now, maybe a little after. Sweat rolled off his face and neck, his back was soaking wet and the stagnant air carried his own sour body odor. Jim looked forward to the evening when the heat promised to lessen and breathing would be easier.

Jim just wasn't sure Khan's plans would leave him alive to feel it.

The walk to Chardonnay's part of the large estate had been too short, and more of Khan's henchmen had joined them along the way. Blair remembered Khan's earlier threat to have his tongue cut out and he was scared. Arriving in her lab, they lifted him off the ground, turning him flat in the air. "No, no, no, NO!"

He twisted, but they didn't let go. They plopped him onto a hospital-grade exam table. The brightly lit ceiling made his eyes water. Hands held his arms, legs and head. Strong straps wrapped his wrists and ankles. The widest one circled his chest. "Come on, please! Don't do this! STOP!"

"Blair, calm down," Chardonnay told him. She stood aside while they worked, dressed in silk and looking more like a client from an exclusive day spa than a doctor. "Watch his wrist. I don't want to have to replace that cast again."

Another strap circled his forehead. "Emily, don't, please. Don't cut out my tongue." Blair couldn't see her, but heard her sigh.

A cool hand covered his cheek. Her face appeared in his line of vision. She was wearing her hair down and it tickled his neck and chin. "You must learn not to anger him. He is very powerful. You belong to him now."

Blair blinked. Now was not the time to preach International Amnesty to this woman. "Fine, okay. I'll behave. Just don't do it. Please!"

"Just a pinch now."

And Blair could feel a large needle going into his arm. She was starting an IV. He shivered, straining again at the thick webbing around his arms and legs. The sound of the door opening and a swirl of air told him someone new had entered. Was it Khan coming to watch?

Blair forced his voice to remain calm. "Khan, man. I swear I won't say another word. Just give me a chance."

"What are you doing, Emily?"

Naomi!

"MOM!" Blair gasped out, managing to turn his head half an inch in spite of the restraints, yet unable to see her. "Mom, please! You have to know me. I'm Blair. Blair!"

She stepped close and Blair looked up at his mother, the angle bringing hundreds of memories back, times when she'd come to his side as a boy to check on him sleeping, him looking up and her smiling down, asking about his day, bending over to kiss his nose.

Naomi said to Chardonnay with a puzzled expression. "Why does he call me mom?"

Oh, god. This was too much. Blair felt the sob release just as the first wave of lightheadedness hit. Chardonnay had introduced something into the IV. He was going to wake up without his tongue.

"M-mom... I love you," Blair blurted out desperately.

Chardonnay patted his shoulder as he slipped into darkness. "Go to sleep, Blair."

Jim watched a passing guard drop the scorpion through the bars of the window. With a cruel laugh, he stayed to watch the fun.

"Can't you idiots get a satellite for your amusement? This is getting old." Jim pressed back against the hot bricks and waited to see what this scorpion would do. He felt sorry for them. They had no where to go and Jim wasn't going to risk getting stung. He needed to stay healthy. He needed to be ready.

This little guy was a juvenile, with transparent looking legs but a very capable looking tail, complete with stinger. Jim remembered the scorpions he'd seen in Vietnam and took a second to note the differences. He wasn't afraid of them. He'd learned to live with all types of bugs while living in Peru. A few had even been tasty.

The scorpion turned to check his new home and Jim struck with his fist. Yes! Three down and still not stung. His guard grunted with disappointment.

"Listen, asshole. You want some fun, open this lid and let's see who's the man."

The guard sauntered away.

Jim wiped the sweat from his face with his shirt tail. He sagged with exhaustion. Alone again, he dropped the bravado and closed his eyes. He was thirsty. Long shadows on the dirt outside told him dusk was near. Soon the temperatures would drop. He couldn't take much more of this heat. If he ever did manage to get out of here, he wondered if he'd be able to walk.

Jim rested his forehead on his bent knees and waited for his freedom.

Blair sat at Khan's feet. The room reminded him of a medieval court with people sitting in attendance, their blurry faces turned to Khan. A heavy chain attached to a metal collar around Blair's neck was bolted to the floor by Khan's chair. Without the slack needed, all Blair could do was kneel next to the chair.

Shivers of revulsion shot through him as Khan's hand stroked the crown of his bald head. The man's touch was acid.

"Bring me my dancer," Khan ordered.

Naomi, dressed in translucent silk, entered the room, her body swaying as she walked. Her smile was for the man sitting in the chair, not seeing Blair. Without waiting for his order, she began to dance for him and Blair's vision hazed with hot tears. He dropped his chin and studied the floor. Khan shifted in his seat. Shit, she was turning him on.

"Bring me my new ornament," Khan demanded, his tone deeper than before.

A dark-skin man, tall and fierce and wearing a long sword walked into the room. He carried a gold and jeweled inlaid box. Not stopping her erotic dancing, Naomi wiggled and swayed off to the side, making room for the man. The box was set down and the hinged lid opened. Using both hands, the man lifted Jim's severed head from the box and held it out for inspection.

Blair's scream rushed past the stumpy root of his missing tongue, gurgling and useless. Nothing more than a wail and rush of air.

The moon painted the visible courtyard outside Jim's prison window with a brittle, eggshell-white. He leaned against the brick and ignored the fear that grew stronger with each passing half hour. What had happened to Sam? Was he dead?

No, Khan would not pass up an opportunity to brag.

Unless he was waiting for the morning.

Jim knew if he was still in this cage when the sun came up, it would be his last sunrise. Their plan had been simple, let Blair get captured, let Khan believe the others were dead and then sneak in to break Blair out. Sam's last minute idea had made sense too. Get Sam back into Khan's confidence, if at all possible. Then he could free Jim and they would let the others into the compound. They'd be set. It was foolhardy, bold... and stupid. Funny how being locked in a sweltering brick oven for over twelve hours brought a clarity that had been previously missed.

The rasp of metal on metal sounded like an explosion in Jim's head. He jerked and the top of his cage opened and Buck's face peered in. "Ready to go?" Buck whispered with a bland expression.

Stiffly, Jim pulled himself up. His own body odor mixed with the cool night air made him scrunch his nose. "How'd you get in?"

Packert helped him crawl over the low wall. "We may not be sentinels, but we've both been around the block a few times."

They each took one of Jim's arms and hustled him out from the open yard to a notch between two adobe buildings. Jim could smell detergent and starch. They were near some sort of laundry facility. Khan had a regular Hilton set up.

"Any sign of Blair?" Buck said as he pulled out a forty-five millimeter Glock and handed it over to Jim

Jim checked the round in the chamber and saw the clip was full. "No. Do any recon?"

Packert answered. "Three pairs of guards, same pattern each time. Twenty minute cycles. Piece of cake."

"Main house has a fancy security system, same with the building that holds the generator. Expect he has a battery backup," Buck added. "One watch tower, only the team is lazy."

Feeling was starting to return in Jim's legs. He arched his back, then rotated carefully at the waist to finish off the kinks as Packert handed him a crudely drawn map. Jim recognized the paper from a small note pad the man kept in his pack.

"This looks like our best entrance. Least visible by guards, and remote. So I say we ignore it. Probably a trap."

"Agreed," Jim answered.

"Next choice is this one." Packert tapped another spot. "We'll have to watch our timing. We'll be in sight of the patrols."

Buck handed Jim a water bottle and Jim guzzled it down as Packert talked.

"We've had two sightings of Naomi. She appears free to wander at will," Packert added.

"What the hell is that about?" Jim asked.

"No idea."

"Wonderful." Jim hated unknown factors in an operation. "Any sightings of Sam?"

"No." Packert folded the paper and put it carefully back into his shirt pocket, his face tight with suppressed concern.

Capping his empty bottle, Jim nodded. "Let's do this."

Reality shifted with confusing contortions as Blair woke, drugs still heavy in his system. It took forever to recognize his surroundings. He was back in his room, behind the bars. His arms and legs felt heavy on the silk sheets. Blinking to clear the fuzzy ceiling, his memory returned in bits and pieces.

Chardonnay.

Naomi.

The operation.

Shit!

With effort, he lifted his hands. They plopped on his face. His fingers were numb but he found his mouth and nearly wept as he pulled out his tongue. They hadn't cut it off. And he wasn't bald, he still wore braids.

Dream.

All of it was a dream. Jim was okay.

Lolling his head on the pillow, he looked through the bars to the empty room beyond. Khan was gone, but that didn't mean anything. The man was a sentinel, and years of living with Jim had taught him they could hear termites chomping on wood. He made a vow he wouldn't say another word while in Khan's captivity.

He hoped.

Blair sat up with effort. So, if they hadn't cut out his tongue, why was his throat sore?

Swallowing painfully, Blair slipped off the bed and used the wall for balance as he made his way to the sink in the corner. There was a plastic water pitcher by the bed, but he didn't trust them. It would be too easy to drug it. Blair made the corner, gripping the metal sink like a life preserver as the room spun and tilted on a weird axis. A few minutes passed before he could bend down and turn on the spigot. The water was cold and he slurped, cooling the rawness in his throat.

The door opened and Blair shot upright, nearly falling over as the dizziness hit again. But it wasn't Khan. A stranger slipped in. It was a tall woman, dressed in long flowing robes and a niqab over her face. Moving on light feet, making no sound, she approached the bars. Her dark skin told Blair she was native. He didn't trust himself to move, doubting he could stay on his feet. He opened his mouth to ask who she was, what she wanted.

And nothing came out. Blair tried again, harder. No sound at all. It was as if his voice box was gone.

That was impossible... wasn't it?

The woman slipped something out of the folds of her robes and tossed it on the bed before turning away.

Cautiously, Blair approached his bed and looked at her silent offering.

The knife on the bedding had a short, wickedly sharp blade. He snatched it up. It was petite but heavy, finely made and as sharp as the chef knives Jim kept at the loft. Blair tucked it into his waist band. The woman was by Khan's chair, fiddling with the control panel. Seconds later, Blair heard a click.

"Come, hurry," the woman said.

Blair pushed the door open. He stumbled a little, and she was at his side with a strong arm around his waist. He didn't know what she was up to, but if her plan included getting him out, he liked it.

Jim led the way down a back hallway. Getting into the main building had been easier than he'd expected. Apparently, Packert had some history as a cat burglar; at least he knew his way around alarm systems. It made Jim wonder what the Army was up to lately. They had gained access to a less used corridor with bare walls and hard concrete flooring, some kind of service passage, judging by the lingering smells of sweat and old food. Every other bare bulb was in use, casting long shadows down the windowless corridor.

"Can you hear him?" Buck whispered with barely moving breath.

Jim shook his head. Reaching an intersection, Jim paused with one hand held up. He tilted his head, white-noise resounded from each end. Apparently, Khan had the damn stuff piped throughout the building.

Footsteps coming their way.

Jim stopped, a hand up to warn the others. They pressed against the wall and waited. The footsteps receded, taking another turn somewhere down the corridor and walking in the opposite direction. Jim relaxed, nodded and started off again, followed closely by Buck and Packert.

A familiar scent caused him to pause and tilt his head. Testing the air for another ten seconds, he made up his mind. A side passage broke away from the one they had been traveling down and Jim followed it until it led to a narrow flight of stone steps. The air temperature dropped as they went underground. Down an older corridor to a corner and the smell grew stronger, along with a new one. He held up his hand, instantly falling back on military signals to convey there was a man guarding a room. He ordered Buck to stay and cover them while he and Packert went on to neutralize the guard. Both men nodded with understanding.

The guard was young and oblivious. His rifle leaned against the wall to his right, out of reach. Jim moved like a shadow, knocking him out with a brutal two punch. Packert had a hand on the door and managed the sturdy deadbolt. The door swung in and Jim pulled the body through.

"Dudes!" Sam leaped up from his comfortable bed, a broad smile on his face.

Packert waited until Buck was in before closing the door, immediately going to Sam's side. "You okay?"

"Totally. Khan doesn't trust me completely, but then again, why would he? I never got a chance to come and free you. Sorry, Jim."

Jim nodded. "It's okay. How's Blair?"

"He was fine when I last saw him."

A stab of icy fear pieced Jim's gut. He didn't like the look on Sam's face. "What happened?"

"They were dragging him off. I don't know why. He didn't look happy about it." Sam shot a guilty look at the men. "He was scared, man. I couldn't ask a lot of questions without looking like I cared. But, Khan wouldn't hurt him... too bad, would he?"

"What do you mean he's escaped?" Khan bellowed, rising from his desk.

His men cowered. "The pen is empty. Someone has let him go."

Someone had released Ellison! The possibilities of traitors were too numerous. Khan was no fool, these people worked for him because he paid well. A few of them he could trust, but mostly he ruled with fear. There was no loyalty among the lower class.

"Come!"

Storming down the hallways toward his room, Khan's flexed his fingers, the only outward sign of apprehension. They were coming for the kid. The double-crossing sentinel was lying, he had to be. The others were still alive. After he made sure Blair was moved to a better hiding place, he'd kill Sam personally. Then hunt down Ellison and use him for sport until the American Sentinel's blood covered the tiles.

"Khan, please. I need to speak with you," Naomi called, hurrying to follow.

Khan snapped his fingers at one of his men. "Bring her!" He ignored her startled yelp. He had reached his room. Throwing open the door, he knew instantly his betrayal had deepened.

The cage door was open.

"WHO HAS DONE THIS?" Khan screamed at Naomi, raising his hand as if to hit her.

She cowered. "Please! What have I done?"

He had no time for her. Taking her arm, he dragged her toward the empty cage, pushed her in and slammed the door. The lock engaged automatically. Naomi, tears falling from her confused and terrified eyes, sank to the floor. "I don't understand."

Turning his back on her, dismissing her value, he shouted at his men. "Get everyone, NOW. Organize a search. Find the Americans! Do NOT hurt the one that is mine!"

Khan would enjoy that privilege himself.

Her hand pressed hard against his shoulder blades. Blair tried to curl tighter. The passing footsteps receded and he relaxed, waiting for the signal from the woman.

Somehow she'd known they were about to be discovered and had pulled Blair into this small, dark storage room of sorts. Stacked boxes towered over them. Sacks the size of hay bales filled with something that looked like grain leaned against each other. The woman had shoved Blair under some type of work table and crawled in after him, just in time, just before he heard voices yelling.

A sharp tug on the back of his collar and Blair backed out. She took his hand. They left the room, slipping silently down the now empty corridor, deeper into the maze of Khan's large complex.

Buck ran forward to a defensible position, then crouching down, gun ready, alert for danger, he waved the team forward. Packert mimicked the action, gaining them more ground. Repeating the process, Jim took point. They met guards as they went, silently taking them out and moving on. No one died, but they wouldn't be waking for hours.

"This is it," Sam whispered with a tap on Jim's shoulder. He pointed at an elaborately carved door with a crystal knob. "Blair's in there."

Tense for the battle, Jim went in high, Buck went low. They covered each other's back as they assessed the new room for hostiles.

"Naomi," Jim said in disappointment.

She flinched back from the bars, her red eyes and tear-stained face scrunching as new sobs wracked her frame. "Please... don't hurt me."

Buck went to the bars and tested them. "Where's Blair?"

"Who?"

Jim left the door for Sam and Packert to guard. He studied the lock. "Naomi, do you know us?"

She shook her head. "Please, I haven't done anything wrong." She hugged herself. "He said I was sick. I don't remember anything."

"You were kidnapped. Your son, Blair, came here with us to rescue you," Buck told her.

Jim could tell the lock on the cage was elaborate. "This has an electric control." He cast his gaze about the room.

"It's on the arm of his chair, but I don't know the code," Sam said, pointing.

"We don't have time to figure it out," Jim told them.

Packert left his position, swinging the military pack off his back. "We don't have to." He opened a pocket and pulled out a small square gadget the size of a cigarette pack. "Everyone step back. Don't touch the bars."

After the item was secure, and the small alligator clips were in place, Packert warned Jim and Sam to avert their gaze and the room lit up with a brief flash. The sharp bite of ozone filled the air and Jim's arm hairs tingled.

Packert pushed the door open.

"How did you do that?" Sam blurted out.

"Later," Jim told him, urging the terrified woman out of the cage. "Khan must have Blair." He passed her over to Buck's care. She trembled as she held onto his arm, her eyes wide.

"Naomi, we're going to take you home," Jim promised. "Everything will be okay."

Khan wasn't running. He never ran, never acted scared or looked like he wasn't in total control. Yet there was an urgency in his actions that made his guards nervous.

He passed through his home, servants falling out of his way. He strode up a flight of stairs, exiting onto a rooftop garden, complete with a fountain. Peacocks squawked with alarm, their long tails swishing as they took to the air in a pathetic attempt to fly with clipped wings.

Khan entered a rooftop room, which looked like a guard tower with openings on all sides. High powered rifles sat on tripods in each corner.

"Sir, we saw nothing!" a nervous man blurted out.

Khan's answer was icy. "Someone entered and let him out."

"Mercy! Please! We--"

The sharp explosion and tang of gunfire at such close range hurt Khan's senses. He ignored the pain. The man fell, a rose blossoming on his chest. He twitched once, then again before going completely motionless. The man's partner looked at Khan with dread.

But Khan only nodded to him. "Get two more men up here. Shoot anyone you don't recognize." Slipping a small gun back into the folds of his clothing, he left the room. The lone guard stepped over the body to obey the order, ignoring his ex-partner's cooling corpse.

There were times it would have been prudent to hire sentinels for the watch tower.

"We need to take out his power source," Packert whispered, crouched at Jim's side. They'd found a side door leading outside the main building. "Give you and Sam a chance to hear what's going on."

Jim agreed. "Take Sam. Meet up with me when you're done." Jim looked at Buck, knowing the man wasn't going to like his next decision. "Take Naomi. Get her out of here."

"Jim..." Buck growled.

"I'll get Blair out, Stevens. His mother's top priority. I'm going to keep that promise." Jim gripped Buck's wrist. "What would Blair tell you right now?"

Looking like he'd just swallowed a bitter pill, Buck nodded. "We'll wait for you in the foothills, where we stowed the extra gear."

"Thanks. Watch out for the guys in the tower." Jim turned to a wide-eyed Naomi. "I know you're scared, Naomi. But you're almost out of this."

"You said...?" She whispered, confused. "That man in the cage? He's...?"

"Your son," Jim quickly told her. "No time to explain. Just trust us. Go with Buck."

Buck pulled her back down the hallway. Jim tracked their movements, as far as he could until the constant static of the generators filled his head and drowned them out. He checked his weapon. It felt good to be alone, good to let his brain focus on one thing and one thing only. No longer having to worry about those that traveled with him, he could let his thoughts center on getting Blair back, and taking down Khan.

Once and for all.

He moved forward with silent ease, his weapon ready. A hundred feet and he found the scent he'd been looking for. A tingle washed over his torso, flowing through his extremities. Familiar and welcome, it settled like a hot coal in his gut. He sniffed the air currents, sharpened his gaze to razor-fineness, and tasted the spores floating down the corridor. His ears struggled for a second with the audible restraints they found. `Soon,' Jim told himself. `Wait for Packert.'

Jim followed the scent through winding passageways and large rooms with expensive furnishings. Halfway through a posh sitting room, he heard a heartbeat. Chardonnay appeared from a side door, nearly colliding with him.

He grabbed her, his hand covering her mouth, weapon pressed against her temple before she could draw enough air to scream.

"Where is he?"

"Khan?" she asked with a high-pitched croak as Jim lifted his palm.

Jim wanted to shake her. "Sandburg!" he hissed.

"I don't know."

She sounded sure, but she could lie with conviction. Jim didn't have the time to make her talk. Hostages weren't his idea of a good plan, but she was with him now and too valuable to leave behind.

"Come on," Jim ordered as he pulled her along. "Stay quiet."

She proved useful, answering Jim's questions about what he'd find down hallways and beyond closed doors truthfully. Jim checked a few at random. She kept up with him, staying quiet as if cooperating.

Then it changed.

Two guards unexpectedly intercepted them in a kitchen-like room where an old, wooden table held chopped up vegetables ready for the soup pot. Stiffening in Jim's hold, Chardonnay yelled, "He is Khan's enemy! Kill him!"

They responded instantaneously, bringing their weapons up. Jim dodged. Chardonnay picked the same direction, involuntarily cutting in front, while scrambling backwards toward the doorway they had just entered. Two shots spanked the air and Chardonnay's body twitched. She fell, her heart stuttering to a halt before she hit the hard tile floor.

Kicking out, Jim upended the closest corner of the table. Two knives clattered to the floor and vegetables bounced off the wall. He dove behind the table's protection as he fired. The first guard took a round above his left eye. He twitched once and lay still. The second man just managed to palm a small walkie talkie device before Jim shot him through the neck. Wetly coughing, he jerked his head to the side and Jim watched his spinal column fold sideways and sever the cord leading to his brain.

In less than ten seconds, Jim was surrounded by three corpses.

Searching all bodies, he broke the walkie talkie, pocketed a small throwing dagger, a set of keys off the woman and a handgun which fit snuggly in his palm.

Jim left the rest behind and continued his search to find Blair.

Blair shivered as the night air cut through his clothing. He was dressed for bed, not running around high desert by moonlight. The woman knew where she was going, pausing at corners to check for guards and hurrying Blair along open, exposed areas between buildings. Blair felt a repulsive itch as he recognized their location, the tiled courtyard where Blair had been forcibly bathed.

A commanding voice stopped them dead. "Raksha."

Khan stepped out of the darker shadows. Three more men appeared, spaced out on either side, another behind them. They were cut off.

Heart skidding, Blair froze. God, they had been so close. He could see the main wall separating them from freedom.

"Khan," the woman, Raksha, answered.

"You've taken my property." Khan moved closer. The guards followed suit. "Why?"

Run, run, run! Blair's brain screamed as his skin crawled. Revulsion grew with each step Khan took. And judging by the smug, cruel smile on his face, Khan was aware of it.

"Tell me why, woman."

Raksha stood straight. She lifted her hand and undid her veil. It dropped to reveal her face. "You are an abomination. You took our valley and killed our people. You own nothing."

Eyes narrowing with suspicion, Khan tilted his head. "Who are you?"

"The one who brings your death."

Blair hadn't realized the others had been tightening their circle until he was yanked from Raksha's side. Survival instinct kicked in and Blair struggled. Khan's man was tall and burly and Blair didn't stand a chance. A thick arm tightened around his neck, squeezing a warning and Blair stilled.

The other guard had Raksha and Khan pressed the barrel of his handgun under her chin.

"I recognize you now. No wonder you hide your face from me. You stood by Narottam when he first came to challenge me." Khan sneered. "Where is your protection now?"

Fearless, Raksha boldly returned Khan's gaze. The smile on her face caused Blair to shiver anew. What was her plan?

Unexpectedly, the compound went dark. Khan flinched. He backed away, looking wildly about him. "What? What is this!"

Fingers dug into Blair's arm as his captor reacted to his boss' agitation. "What is wrong?" one guard asked.

Still cringing, Khan covered his ear with his free hand and waved the gun toward the distant corner. "It's broken! Go, at once, fix it now! My sound machine is not working."

"But..." Blair's guard looked pointedly at Blair.

Khan straightened with effort. "Give him to me!"

And Blair's custody was transferred. Khan's gun pressing into Blair's spine. Two guards ran off, leaving Khan and one man holding Raksha.

"Do your job, worm," Khan hissed at Blair. "You help Ellison with this. You're mine now. Do it for me."

Blair shook his head. He couldn't answer even if he did have a clue what Khan was talking about. Sound machine? Then an inkling of understanding hit. Khan must have been using a white-noise generator here in his compound. Now it wasn't working.

The guy didn't have control.

Jim was stronger... better.

Blair felt hope build as the fist in his shirt shook him hard.

"Fix this!" Khan screamed, his face so close, Blair was sprayed with spittle.

Inwardly rejoicing in seeing Khan's shell of confidence crack, Blair kept his outward expression confused and scared as he made more connections. Khan thought he was some type of magic talisman? Blair nearly snorted. What a joke.

He was just a guy looking for the living embodiment of his thesis. And he'd found it in Jim. Yeah, close quarters with a real sentinel might have given him an edge, but that was all. Nothing mystical.

Not that Blair wouldn't jump at the chance...

Khan looked rabid, ready to kill.

Maybe Blair could fake it, look like he was performing. He closed his eyes and imagined Jim standing at his side, not Khan. Jim needed him. A very real warm feeling of safety grew deep in Blair's chest, spreading outwards like massage oil over his limbs. It felt so real that Blair stood straight with new courage. The feeling grew. It was real.

What the hell?

Eyes opening in shock, Blair saw the pure hatred in Khan's face as the man searched the deep, moon shadows darkening the sharp angles of the buildings and corners around them.

Khan growled and tightened his hold on Blair.

"Khan." Jim Ellison stepped into the bright moonlight at the far end of the courtyard. "Let him go."

Raksha saw her chance. She twisted, catching her captor off guard and the man fell to the tile with a scream, blood flowing over hands that clutched his slit throat. She charged, knife in hand. Khan shouted a curse and turned his gun from Blair to the new threat.

Blair pulled his own knife.

Jim sprinted toward them.

But Khan proved to have a deep sense of survival. He responded to the twin threats instinctively, firing at Raksha as he blocked Blair's knife thrust. Raksha fell. Khan's combat skills reminded Blair of Jim, and before Blair could move, the knife flew out of his hand and his world turned to gray as a hard backhand sent a jolt of pain screaming through his head. When it passed, Blair found himself caught around the neck, his back pressed to Khan's chest and Jim charging straight at them, looking as pissed as Blair had ever seen him.

Khan's gun appeared over Blair's right shoulder. It was pointed at Jim.

NO!

Blair grabbed Khan's arm just as the trigger was pulled. The ricochet screamed harmlessly into the night.

Jim didn't pause his charge, colliding into Blair and Khan at full speed. Arms and legs tangled. Blair was battered with elbows and knees as the two sentinels fought with the feral snarls of two large, angry cats sharing tight quarters.

For a second, Blair saw his chance to snatch Khan's gun, but Jim's fist knocked it out of the man's grasp and it skidded on the courtyard. It came to rest near the crumpled, still form of Raksha, too far away for Blair to reach. Blair shoved and rolled clear of the fight. A kick grazed Blair's back and he rolled again, inadvertently smacking his cast on the hard tile and gasping in pain.

Jim heard him and searched Blair out. Khan used the distraction to his advantage. With a powerful twist and kick, Jim flipped backwards, landing hard on his back, momentarily stunned. Jim was weaponless. With a victorious crow, Khan snatched up Jim's dropped gun.

Blair made a desperate lunge for Khan's gun. He was not going to make it!

Khan was aiming at Jim.

Jim was going to die.

Something snapped deep within as Blair released a silent scream of cold fury.

In unison, both sentinels curled and covered their ears in apparent agony.

Raksha unfurled. She lunged for Khan's gun. Lying on her side, she aimed and fired. A wet crack sounded, a cone shaped dark spray flew away from the back of Khan's head and the man jerked, flipping back on the tile. One arm flopped out, his hand splashing into the sunken tub where Blair had been forcibly scrubbed.

All went deathly still.

Blair's brain froze, unable to tear his gaze away from Khan's body.

Gentle hands pulling, lifting. Blair was urged to stand, turned away from the gruesome sight and drawn into a hug.

"We're okay," Jim whispered into Blair's ear, squeezing before backing away without turning him completely loose. "Can you stand on your own?"

Jim.

Blair was seeing Jim's face now. Up close. Jim was here. Right... okay, then. Answer. Blair needed to answer.

He nodded

Jim left and knelt by the woman. "Are you okay?"

She lifted her hand and allowed Jim to pull her up. "I... will be," she answered, holding her side as she stood. She handed the gun over.

Jim took it with a silent nod of thanks. "Let's get out of here before the guards in the watch tower reach us."

"That way," Raksha said, pointing.

Jim pierced Blair with a look. "Stay close, Sandburg."

Dazed and feeling oddly detached, Blair started to follow. He looked back, unable to stop himself. Needing one last look. Just to make sure.

Khan.

Dead.

"Sandburg," Jim snapped, already out of the moonlight and edging toward a nearby building, using the shadow for cover.

Blair hurried to catch up. Jim set a brisk pace, cutting through the night with ease, skirting corners, knowing the path ahead of them was clear. Finally, they stopped beneath a low roof overhang next to a low stone wall.

Jim eased the woman down to sit on the wall. "Who are you?" Jim asked her.

"It does not matter," she answered. "My purpose is done. Narottam is avenged."

"Who?" Jim pressed.

She shook her head, dismissing his questions. "You must leave."

"You need a doctor."

"I'm not badly hurt. I'll heal." She pointed. "You both must go."

"We will. We're waiting for the others."

Naomi! Blair grabbed Jim's arm, mouthing `mom.'

Jim understood. "It's okay. Buck got her out. We'll meet up."

Oh god, she's out. Jim did it. He got her out. Blair swayed with relief.

Jim caught his shoulder. "Hey, you okay?"

Knees shaking, Blair nodded.

"Blair?" Jim's worried face loomed closed. A loud buzzing drowned out Jim's next question. The shaking spread to his whole body, until Blair wondered if it was possible to literally shake apart with relief. He felt himself turned and pushed back until the stone wall bumped his calves and Jim gently urged him to sit.

Sitting is good. Blair could really get into sitting.

Naomi.

Safe.

The buzzing quieted.

"He cannot talk," Raksha told Jim.

"What? That's impossible, I heard him scream back there," Jim blurted out, stuffing his gun in his waistband. He carefully examined Blair's throat with his fingers.

But Raksha smiled knowingly. "He made no noise."

"Sandburg, what did that bastard do?"

Blair shook his head. He wanted to tell Jim everything was fine now. Naomi was all that mattered.

Jim captured his jaw. "Open wide, let me look."

Blair opened.

"A little irritated looking. I don't see any incision. Can you swallow okay?"

Blair nodded.

"What the hell did they do to him?" Jim asked the woman.

"The woman doctor did this. I do not know."

"Shit," Jim muttered, dropping to one knee, his face in his hand. He clasped Blair's shoulder with the other. "She's dead. Damn that bitch."

Blair placed both hands on Jim's head in silent blessing. His chest swelled with admiration for his sentinel, for keeping his promise and saving his mother.

Jim stood, posed like a sentry on watch. "They're here."

Packert and Sam slipped around the corner. Blair stood, feeling stronger and managing a smile as Sam one-arm hugged him with a heartfelt `dude' greeting.

"We took out the power and back up," Packert said softy. "Took a second to toss some sleeping gas into the watchtower. Guards won't be a problem. Noticed Khan's body... So, we done here?"

"Chief, anyone else here we should know about?" Jim asked Blair.

Huh?

Jim clarified. "Anyone from the Idaho camp you recognized?"

Blair shook his head.

"Then we're out of here." Jim nodded to the woman. "She'll need help. I've got Sandburg."

Slipping out of the compound seemed incredibly easy. Khan's body had been discovered. Jim could hear the chaos of Khan's empire being stripped as people ran about taking pictures and art work out of rooms. Jim heard more than one cheer lift into the night sky and Sam shared a knowing grin as they hurried along the perimeter wall.

Raksha led them, taking them to a low, metal-hinged trap door in the stone wall. They drew back two rusty bolts and crawled out on hands and knees. Packert drew it shut behind them.

Even the moon was their ally as it stayed hidden behind a bank of thick clouds. Jim kept Blair close to his side, dialing his vision up to skirt around rocks and shrubs. They navigated quickly through the valley floor without discovery and reached the first rise of foothills in two hours. Dawn was near, just below the eastern mountain range.

"Jim," Packert said. "She needs a break."

Raksha, pale and trembling, allowed Packert and Sam to lower her to the ground. Packert slipped off his pack and took out two water bottles, handing one to Jim as he uncapped the second to give to Raksha. Jim checked the area, hearing and smelling no danger, and deeming them safe.

"Keep lookout," Jim told Sam.

Jim took Blair by the elbow. "Come sit a minute, Sandburg."

He noticed Blair's heavy limp as they found a patch of soft ground and sat. Blair drank from the bottle, then handed it back for Jim to finish. Blair shivered in the cool air. "We're almost to our supply cache. You'll feel better once you're out of those pajamas you're wearing."

Blair shot Jim a surly look.

Jim grinned, feeling relief at being able to tease his partner once more. Scooting around until they sat face to face, Jim gently picked up Blair's ankle. "Hey, I'm not saying the braids and the harem look doesn't work for you, Junior. It's just not suitable for desert travel." He ignored the haughty huff of air and focused on Blair's feet. "That goes double for these bedroom slippers."

Jim slipped one off, seeing the shredded soles and frowning. None of them had brought extra shoes. "Damn."

With a hand on Jim's forearm, Blair caught Jim's eye and shook his head.

"What?"

Blair mouthed the words `I'm fine' and made walking motions with his hands.

"We need to do something about this or you'll be crawling by dawn," Jim insisted firmly, not turning loose of Blair's foot. He continued his examination. Blair's heel was bruised. A deep cut on his instep oozed blood. "I didn't smell this over the woman's injuries. Let me see the other."

Blair reluctantly moved his other foot into Jim's reach, bracing with his hand for balance. The other foot wasn't bleeding, just badly bruised. Jim shook his head. "Stay put, be right back."

Packert was trying, and failing, to get Raksha to let him look at her side. Jim interrupted, "I need something for Sandburg's feet or they'll be hamburger by morning," Jim said.

Packert pointed at his pack. "Side pocket. Webbing."

Jim returned to Blair with a handful of thick, military strapping. Forming figure eights and following the principle of ancient Roman sandals, he worked out some reasonable protection from the rocks.

Jim helped his guide up. "How's that feel?"

Blair took a few tentative steps, wincing a little, but walking nonetheless. He beamed at Jim, forming a `thank you.'

"Dudes! We got company!" Sam stood on a knoll, pointing north.

Four figures, dressed for the desert night, stood perfectly still on a ridge three quarters of a mile out. Jim hastily gathered up their things.

"What should we do?" Sam asked, posed at Packert's side, looking at Jim for answers. Raksha sat on her boulder, calmly breathing through her pain.

"They might just be curious about us. We push on, join up with Buck." Jim shrugged on the pack and checked his ammunition. "I'll take point with Blair. Packert takes the woman, Sam, you fall back and follow. Keep your senses on high, kid. I don't want any more surprises."

They traversed the foothills. Packert half carried the woman along. Blair kept up, limping less and staying close to Jim's side. The terrain grew rocky, and more than once, they were forced to double back to find a better path. Jim recognized the craggy, broken tooth-shaped knoll in the distance and knew they were close. Jim extended his hearing forward, hearing only the nocturnal wandering of desert dwellers.

Was Buck using the white noise generator they had brought along?

Fifteen minutes later, the eastern sky showed tentative signs of another hot day. They had reached the site and the four men glumly surveyed Buck's solitary pack leaning against a boulder. Jim could smell lingering traces of Naomi's perfume on the ground and rocks, along with Buck's cigar.

"I don't like it," Packert declared. He looked back the way they had come. "Where are our shadows, Sam?"

"About a mile behind us," the young sentinel answered, tilting his head.

Jim walked a tight perimeter, reading the prints on the ground. "They had visitors. One on horseback." Jim paused, working to make sense from the scuffs in the hard ground. "They left that way, probably up into the mountains."

A familiar blur passed him. Jim reached out and caught Blair's arm.

"Hey! Hold up."

Blair erupted unexpectedly, throwing Jim's hand off, turning to escape. Jim bolted forward, catching the younger man by the back of his cotton tunic and wrapping his arm around Blair's waist to draw him in and anchor him to his chest.

"Blair, we'll get her back!" Jim promised.

Gulping the brisk air in panic, Blair struggled until the fight emptied out and he stilled, leaning back on Jim.

"I know. I'm sorry," Jim whispered. "We'll get them back. But not without a plan."

Jim's last sensation was to feel Blair's reassuring pat on his arm. Then a sharp sound cleaved his skull and he was falling into blackness.

Mimicking Packert, Blair stood over his fallen sentinel, gun in hand, both men guarding their unconscious sentinels. Half a dozen men in desert robes surrounded them, their sun-darkened faces unreadable. Half the group held ancient looking rifles and the tip of each rifle was pointed at the Americans.

Blair jutted out his chin and kept both hands steady as he drew a bead on the oldest guy in the group. It was only a guess. But sometimes the oldest was the leader.

Raksha broke the silent standoff. "Lay your weapons down."

"Not going to happen, lady." Packert had one foot on either side of Sam, who had curled into a ball with his hands over his ears before passing out. "What the hell did they do to them?"

Ignoring his question, Raksha spoke to the newcomers and Blair wished for the hundredth time since coming to this country that he knew the language. A short man, the one Blair was pointing his gun at, stepped forward and lowered his rifle. He answered Raksha, his voice firm, yet respectful.

Raksha waved a hand dismissively and replied.

Looking unhappy about it, the man let his rifle swing on its leather strap until it nestled against his back. One by one, the others did the same. One man broke from the circle and hurried to Raksha's side, dropping to his knees in the dirt.

"Who are they?" Packert asked, lowering his own weapon.

"My people." Raksha was being helped to her feet. Someone led a strong roan gelding into the camp. She was lifted onto the horse's back.

Blair lowered Jim's gun and knelt by his partner. Jim's eyes were closed, his face frozen with pain. He wasn't unconscious in as much as he seemed to be in a forced zone of pain. Blair patted Jim's cheek, then gave a gentle sternum-rub.

Voice. Jim responded best to his voice. How could he guide if he couldn't talk?

"Let me help."

The speaker was the same man that had helped Raksha. Reaching into some inner pocket, he squatted and pulled out a thick leaf. Before Blair could stop him, he crushed the leaf between his thumb and fingers and held it under Jim's nose.

The effect was instantaneous.

Jim rapidly sneezed four times. "Blair!" he blurted, opening his eyes wide before slamming them shut with a groan. Blair caught Jim's reaching hands and placed them over his own chest, hoping touch could do what his voice couldn't.

Jim relaxed. "Gaawd, what the hell was that? My head is..." He coughed. "Everything hurts."

Turning Jim's hand, Blair drew a circle on the sentinel's palm, followed by a question mark.

"W-what?" Jim muttered, eyes still scrunched closed, but lifting his head from the dirt.

Another circle, followed by a careful number nine, then an eight. Jim caught on as Blair drew a seven. The stranger watched in fascination.

"Dials... ah, okay. Everything's screwy right now. Nothing's under an eight."

Not good. Blair lightly touched Jim's ear and drew an eight, then another touch to the ear, and he drew a seven on the palm. Slowly Jim nodded.

"Okay, yeah."

Blair got him down to a three and stopped. He drew a question mark. Jim covered his eyes. "Vision."

Blair stroked Jim's brow once, then repeated the process. Slowly Jim relaxed.

"No, let's keep it at five." Jim carefully opened his eyes and looked around.

The man with the leaf nodded, his teeth flashing white as he smiled. Standing, he went to Sam, and Blair was alone again with Jim.

"What the hell is going on?" Jim whispered, sitting up with Blair's help. "Who are these guys?"

Using the earth as a slate, Blair answered with his finger. `Raksha's people.'

Sam was stirring and Packert fussed over him. With Blair under Jim's arm, they made their way over. The rest of the newcomers had gathered around Raksha's horse where she spoke to them in a low voice.

"What do you make of this, Jim?" Packert asked. He had Sam on his feet, one arm over his shoulder as he waited for the younger man's head to clear.

"I don't know." Jim scratched behind his ear. Patting Blair's shoulder once in thanks, he drew his arm back. "We could use some allies right now."

Packert nodded. "I agree. Let's see if we can get an invite. They may know something about Buck and Naomi."

Sam still swayed in Packert's hold. "Dudes, I think I'm gonna puke."

The leader led them along a faint trail, which took them up into the mountains. Jim and the others were kept in the middle. The valley floor looked far away as they gained elevation, then it was out of sight all together. The temperatures cooled to a comfortable level and the raw beauty of the land went a long way to soothe Jim's frazzled senses. Close to midday, Jim could hear sounds of people. He smelled sheep, and minutes later, they saw a large herd grazing in the stubbly grass. A slender stream flowed down from a narrow canyon. Two men sat on an outcrop of flat-topped rock with rifles over their laps, obviously guards and sheepherders. They raised their hands in greeting and the line moved on, navigating through the docile herd of animals and around a copse of trees to view a compact village built of stone and wood. Ragged mountain peaks protected them on three sides, framing them into the narrow valley.

Happy, squealing children dressed in ornate embroidered robes and caps that flapped over their ears ran to greet the arriving party. Some of the men scooped them up and tickled their bellies. Older women and a few men stood in doorways framed by delicate lattice work and waved. Raksha was helped from the horse and taken inside one of the homes.

The leader turned to Jim. "Come."

Jim shook his head. "Back there you said you would help us find our friends."

He nodded. "Come."

The village belonged in a page from a Doctor Seuss book. No one had side yards. The dwellings squeezed together in a complex patchwork of homes, some three stories high, like cliff dwellers. They were led into a ground floor room, large and cool. The leader clapped his hands at the three children playing on the hard dirt floor. The boys gathered up marbles and ran out.

"Sit. We'll eat and talk."

A hand-cut trestle table with benches occupied the far wall. Smells of spiced meat and fresh bread made Jim dizzy with sudden hunger pains.

They settled in. A woman with carefully plaited hair set down a pitcher of fruity smelling tea. She handed them glasses and poured. Jim tested the tea and nodded to his companions who drank greedily.

"I am Harud." The leader sat at the end of the table. "Thank you for helping Raksha. She is very important to our village."

Jim wasn't at the share-names stage. He wanted more information first. "She was hurt." Jim laid a palm on his own side to show where. "Do you have a doctor?"

"She will be cared for. The bullet made a line into her side." Harud looked at the four men in turn. "You are all a long way from home."

"This man's mother was kidnapped. We came to get her back."

"Khan."

Packert leaned forward. "What do you know about this guy?"

Jim held his tongue. He wanted to find out about Buck and Naomi, not gather intel on a dead man. Blair sat at his side, vibrating with impatience.

"Khan came to the valley two years ago," Harud explained sourly. He paused and leaned back as the same woman brought a tray of flat bread and a spread that smelled like smashed beans with spices. There were four knives for them to dip into the bowl. "We graze our sheep there each spring. When we told him, he attacked."

Jim tore off a section of the warm bread and sniffed. No hint of danger. Chewing it slowly, he once again nodded to the others and Sam beat Packert's reach for the tray. Blair didn't make a move toward the food.

"Raksha said a name." Jim wished for Blair's ability to remember facts. "Narra-somthing. I got the impression she was repaying a debt."

Before Harud answered, Jim heard the sounds of more people approaching from outside. A familiar scent caused him to twist and watch the door. He nudged Blair as Buck and Naomi entered. Blair scrambled off the bench, accidentally kicking Jim's thigh in haste.

Pale and weary, Naomi had a death grip on Buck's arm as she walked by his side. Her eyes widened and she stepped back as Blair approached.

"Hey, runt." Buck said, catching the hug meant for Naomi. "How you doing?"

Jim joined the reunion. He smiled at the panicky woman, careful not to touch her or take her hand. "It's good to see you again, Naomi." The way she clung to Buck told him she'd found strength in his company. "I'm Jim Ellison. Your son and I are roommates and friends."

"Son..." Naomi looked at Blair. "I... I'm sorry. I don't remember any of you."

"It's okay," Jim told her. "We'll get this all sorted out."

The mountain village did not have a phone or a radio. The six strangers were given three different family hosts who were happy to accommodate them. Jim followed Blair into a small room with a single window. Their host, an old man with a toothless grin, bowed once before leaving them to their rest.

A full-sized bed was built into the back wall. A side table held a large bowl and a pitcher of clean-smelling water.

"Take a seat, Chief." Jim had the first aid supplies from their kit. "I want to look at your feet."

Blair sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders slumped. Jim poured water into the bowl and dragged a straight-back wooden chair over. Setting the bowl on the floor, he dug into the first aid supplies for the iodine. Finally prepared, he lifted the worst of Blair's two battered feet to set in his lap, causing Blair to tilt back on the bed.

"Might as well get comfortable. This is going to take some time." Jim began to unwrap the webbing. Dried blood made it necessary to soak the area with a wet cloth. After a few minutes, Blair reached out for the pillow and lay down on his side, pillow under his head. Jim worked silently, focused on the damage to his friend's foot.

Finally, Jim had the webbing off. He cleaned the cut with care, ignoring Blair's flinches when he dug out small bits of sand and dirt. If Jim had his own personal aid kit, he'd use his modified syringe to flush the area with water.

After sentinel vision had proved the wound clean, Jim dried the skin and added a liberal dose of antibiotic cream. By the time he started applying a clean bandage, Blair had fallen asleep, his right arm crooked under his head. Returning the now clean and bandaged foot to the mattress, Jim went to work on the other. The injuries would cause Blair pain for a few days. The best remedy would be staying off his feet.

Easier said than done.

Nursing finished, Jim covered his sleeping partner with a spare blanket and took a good look at his friend. Blair looked smaller, as if being Khan's captive had stolen some of his essence. Blair's skin was too pale in places. A deep frown remained even while he slept. The room wasn't cool, but Jim couldn't stop himself from pulling the blanket up, as if covering Blair up to his chin would protect him.

Jim forced himself to stop obsessing. He carried the bowl through the house, not seeing the old man and figuring they had the place to themselves for the day. He emptied the water outside and poured in the rest from the pitcher. Getting out his small shaving kit, he got to work on his own appearance while Blair slept.

By late afternoon, the team met again in the same main room, rested and clean and hungry for dinner. Jim and Blair were the last to enter. More food waited on the table and Jim wasted no time fixing a plate. He was hungry and the meat smelled great. "Where's Naomi?"

Buck answered. "Still sleeping."

"Harud said he'd show us a safe way to the nearest town," Packert said. "We can contact the embassy."

"Sounds good," Jim answered. "Blair can't travel yet. Maybe the day after."

Blair made an `I'm fine' face and glared.

Jim shrugged. "Fine, then how about giving your Mom a little down time? There's no reason to leave at first light, Chief."

Sam used a section of flat bread to mop the last of the gravy of his plate while changing the subject, "Raksha's gonna be okay. She's one tough cookie."

Buck pushed a large bowl of rice into Jim's reach.

Jim put two large spoonfuls on his plate then passed the bowl to Blair who put about half the same on his. Jim relaxed, knowing he wasn't going to have to nag his partner to eat.

Blair dropped his fork and stiffened.

Jim heard the approaching footsteps half a second later. A woman entered the room with a small boy, about seven. Blair's posture relaxed, but his eyes remained on the child. The woman had the traditional clothing of the village. The lower part of her face was hidden behind her dark blue Hajib.

"We've come to thank you for bringing Raksha back to us."

The boy dropped his mother's hand and neared.

Blair shrank back.

The boy stopped.

"This is Narottam's son, Pallab," the woman explained with a heavy accent. "Raksha is his..." She hesitated, unsure. "She teaches him now."

The boy spoke, his voice holding a bit of awe as he continued to stare at Blair. The mother translated. "He says you are like Raksha."

Then Jim felt it. The kid was a fledgling sentinel. He stood up. "Where's Raksha?"

"She is resting in her house," Pallab's mother answered.

It didn't matter that Jim had no idea where that was, the village wasn't that large and he would find her. Blair made a move to follow. "No, Sandburg. Do me a favor and stay with Buck."

Rebellion showed in Blair's eyes and the jut of his jaw.

Jim pointed a finger at him. "I mean it. I want to talk to her in private."

Jim wasn't followed - by Blair or anyone else - as he strode purposefully out of the room. The sun had dipped below the mountains and the temperatures had dropped as well as he walked down the single street. He caught the smell of antiseptic in the air four houses down and knocked on a dark door carved with animal images. It didn't occur to him that he might be breaking some gender taboo until the door opened and an older man stood blinking at him with a soft mixture of amusement and awe.

"Let him enter."

The man stepped aside. Jim went into a modest living room to see Raksha reclined on a comfortable looking mat suspended on a hand-made rope bed.

"You planned on bringing him here all along to guide that kid, didn't you?" Jim accused, leaping over pleasantries and getting to his anger.

She nodded, leaning back against a mini mountain of plush pillows and waving at a chair next to her bed. "I did not know of you at the time. Pallab needs someone to direct him."

"What's wrong with you?" Jim asked. He had come to yell, threaten and make it clear that Blair wasn't going with anyone except Jim Ellison. But she looked twice as old now as she had in Khan's compound and he didn't have it in his fury to yell at an old, injured woman.

"Pallab is a child. I am an ancient woman." Her short laugh brought a grimace of pain. The man who had let Jim in hurried to her side with a glass of water.

She sipped carefully and nodded her thanks. The man backed away.

"I understand now that he is taken. You both have a true pairing. Khan was twice the fool to try and steal your friend away."

"He's more than a friend," Jim said, relaxing now that she admitted Blair was his partner.

She nodded. "I don't know English that well. I don't know your word."

"We're partners. Blair is a teacher by trade and he instructs me on how to control my senses."

"This is true. I saw. He is strong. He is your sohav." She pursed her lips. "Maybe you say companion."

"Guide?" Jim suggested, thinking of Brackett.

"Yes, yes that will do. He is your guide." She leaned forward eagerly. "But he is more, too. He is very wise for his young years. Strong in ruh." She tapped over her heart.

Jim nodded. "Did Khan sense that too?"

She fell back into her pillows, weary. "Yes. My Narottam would have as well. He found me... so long ago." Her face twisted with a deeper pain. "He would have known."

"Do you know what Khan did to Blair to make him unable to talk?"

She shook her head.

Jim spoke gently. "Did Khan kill Narottam?"

Her eyes filled. She nodded. "It took me over a year to gain Khan's trust. I am just a woman, but I would not leave until I had justice."

Jim patted her arm. "You listen to me. You've got many years left and Narottam needs you to help his son now. Why not look toward the future for a while and let the past go?"

She closed her eyes. "You have a good ruh as well, pahra."

Jim stood. The need for battle had ebbed. "Rest."

Nodding to the man tending to the injured woman, Jim walked back to his team in thought. This village still embraced the ways he had learned from the Chopec. Sentinels and their guides living as a vital part of the tribe, counted on, cared for, even taking care of the next generation without using the word freak. He was beginning to wonder about the claim that western culture was advanced and superior.

Ahead, Blair leaned against the doorjamb, anxiously watching for his return.

"Hey, everything's fine. I just talked to her." Jim interpreted the next look Blair gave him and chuckled as he turned his friend around by the shoulders and supported him back to the table. They walked slowly to allow for Blair's heavy limp. "Honest, Sandburg, I didn't go caveman on her. Let's finish eating and get some more sleep."

As if, Blair thought a few hours later, lying on his back and staring morosely at the dark ceiling. Sleep was impossible. No matter how exhausted his body was, he couldn't shut off his brain.

He sat up carefully. The stiff padded mattress didn't move. Next to him, Jim snored.

Moving slowly enough to make a glacier look like a downhill racer, Blair eased off the bed. It was with no uncertain amount of pride that Blair tiptoed into the next room. Their host slept. The way to the outside was clear. A lantern on the table gave enough light for Blair to navigate without pain. His shins were thankful. Reaching the door, Blair eased it open and stepped out into the main street.

A zillion stars jostled each other for space in the heavens above. The sight stole Blair's breath. The cool air made his face tingle with pleasure. He still wore many layers of borrowed clothing and now he was grateful. He sat on the door stoop and took a deep breath. His neck felt the cold and Blair started to work on the stupid braids, vowing not to stop until his hair was free again. He found the work therapeutic and soothing. As each braid unraveled, the cage receded further and further in his mind. By the time he added the last rubber band to the small pile next to him, his arms ached, but the free strands brushing his neck made him feel whole again.

Standing, Blair stretched his spine. He needed some exercise. Not caring where his wandering took him, he limped down the road.

Maybe this was all about being free to take a midnight stroll. Yeah, that had to be it. Blair wasn't stupid, he knew enough about the human brain to know that cage would be part of him now.

Khan had put him in a freaking cage, like a damn parakeet.

Deep breath. Now another.

He let the anger wash over him. Khan was dead. Naomi was free again.

Sure, she didn't know him from the next guy, but the point was she was free and - hell - she was even awake. That had to be a plus.

A scuffle, like a shoe slipping in loose gravel, sounded from behind. Blair froze and turned in fear. The canopy of stars between the mountaintops showed him a small boy standing uncertainly in the middle of the street.

Pallab.

Jim woke with a snort. Two facts hit him instantly. He had to relieve his bladder and Blair was missing. Extending his hearing, he found the familiar heartbeat still within the village, so he quickly took care of the first matter.

The village had a primitive septic system that only required a person to pour water into the toilet bowl before flushing. Washing up, Jim weighed the amount of trouble he'd be in if he followed Blair against the fact he'd never go back to sleep knowing Blair was wandering around the place in the middle of the night.

Dressing quickly, Jim set off to seek his guide.

Quiet giggles sounded from around one of the larger buildings, where a narrow space allowed villagers to take a path up to the terraced hills. Jim peaked around the corner, adjusting his vision to accommodate a small lantern. Blair was on his hands and knees, concentrating hard with his tongue jutting out sideways. He flicked a marble with his thumb. The small glass orb followed a track in the dirt and smacked a tiger eye out of its depression.

Pallab squatted next to the course, a few feet away, waiting for his turn.

Blair raised a hand in victory, which Pallab answered with a slap of his own dirty palm, before scurrying around to line up his next shot.

Jim quietly withdrew.

Maybe it was a good thing, this midnight marble tournament. Maybe Blair needed to remember that sentinels were basically the good guys, Khan being the exception.

"Embassy."

"Hospital."

Jim and Packert glared at each other.

Three days of walking and riding in the back of an open bed truck that smelled of sheep shit and dirty straw, of eating dried meat and fruit, of drinking warm water and sleeping on a rocky ground did nothing for either man's disposition. Now they stood once more on a busy street in Muzzaffarabad. Blair liked being back among the hustle of a big city. The crowd of strangers gave him an invisible feeling that he welcomed.

Blair scratched a quick note on a pad they'd bought and ripped off the page, thrusting it up to Jim's face.

`DON'T need hospital!!'

Jim's bulldog look morphed into worry as he read the note. "Come on, Sandburg."

Blair rolled his eyes, smacking Jim's arm. He was a sucker for Jim's whining tone and Jim knew it.

Jim pressed the issue. "You need to see a doctor."

"How about we split up?" Buck suggested reasonably.

"Buck and I can meet you somewhere," Naomi suggested timidly. She stood with her arm hooked around his. "I really need some... things."

Blair didn't like it. They'd worked so hard to get her back and now Naomi would be out of his sight again. But Buck read his mind and smiled.

"We'll be fine, runt. Make Jim happy and let a doctor look you over. See you after lunch." Buck patted his shoulder.

"Okay, it's a plan." Packert looked at his watch. "It's quarter past ten. Let's meet at the hotel. We'll compare notes."

They split up.

Blair wrote another note for Jim. `I'll go - but NO bossing me around with the doctor.'

Jim smiled. "Deal."

Arriving by taxi, Jim escorted Blair to the equivalent of an ER counter. They waited side by side in a noisy hallway, filling out forms and watching people going back and forth. The place was busy, as busy as Cascade General back home. Then after an hour and a half, a middle aged man with pencil thin forearms but strong biceps approached. He motioned Blair to follow. He frowned when Jim stood, falling in behind Blair.

"I'm coming," Jim announced, his expression clear that the subject was non-negotiable.

On one hand, Blair had told Jim not to push. On the other hand, he wasn't too keen on going off alone without being able to communicate verbally. Blair decided to let Jim have his alpha moment.

Pencil Wrist Man backed down and led them to a small room. He handed Blair a cotton smock before leaving. No way, Blair draped the gown over a small stool. His throat needed examining, not his whole body.

"Sandburg..."

Holding up his finger, Blair shut Jim down with a look.

Jim wisely said nothing, dropping the argument.

The doctor was a young, Caucasian guy. Tall and gangly, he had a genuine smile and a scruffy beard.

"Hi, I'm Troy Smith." He stuck out his hand and shook Blair's in a firm grasp. "Is this paperwork right? You can't talk and you're not sure why?"

"You're American?" Jim asked.

Dr. Smith looked at Jim. "I am, and you are?"

"Jim Ellison, Detective with Cascade Police."

"Cascade is..."

"Western Washington."

"Long way from home." Smith transferred Blair's discarded gown to the shelf under the examination table and perched on the stool. "So, tell me about it."

Amazingly, Jim didn't answer. He looked at Blair expectantly.

Blair weighed their time and the possibility of a writer's cramp against letting Jim talk for him. He gave permission with a wave of his hand.

Looking extremely smug with himself, Jim crossed his arms. "Let me explain what happened..."

Several long minutes later, Blair leaned against the edge of the exam table and doodled on his writing pad. Finally Jim finished. Smith pursed his lips unhappily.

"I live here because I met my wife in medical school back in Boston. We made a deal to stay in Muzzaffarabad while her parents are alive. I've learned to love the country, but not everything that goes on inside its borders." He stood with a sigh. "So, let's take a look, Blair."

"So, you're saying you don't know," Jim snapped.

Blair smacked him.

Jim rubbed his arm ruefully. The kid was getting very good in the non-verbal communication department. "Sorry to sound so abrupt. We're just tired."

Smith grinned, going serious again. "I totally understand. The week you two have had belongs in a Spielberg film. Anyway, what you need, Blair, is tests and more tests. You've already made it clear you're heading back to the States. Have the tests done over there. Whatever they did to you is done. I don't see evidence of surgery, so this might be a paralytic agent that I'm not familiar with."

"You're saying it will wear off."

Smith sighed. "Jim, I'm saying anything is possible. There's no way of knowing." He looked back at Blair. "You're swallowing just fine. The nerves that control your voice box also help you swallow, so I'm thinking they must be okay. All this is conjecture. Whatever this woman did might very well be some sort of medical voodoo that no one has shared with the rest of us. The good news is your wrist seems to be healing fine. You're hard on casts, but that one is still serviceable."

"How about his foot," Jim asked, risking another crabby look from his guide. "Can you make sure it's okay?"

Blair submitted to another quick exam. Smith nodded. "Looks fine. You did a nice job with that, Jim. Very clean."

Blair put his sock and shoe back on, then quickly scribbled on his pad. He tore off the page and handed it over. Smith read it and chuckled.

"You're more than welcome. Anyway, you've got my number. I want to hear from you when you get back. And... no, Blair, I can't prescribe a tranquilizer for your friend. I'm not sure you have a rifle big enough to shoot the right sized dart needed to put him down."

Jim blushed. "Yuk it up, Junior."

Seeing Blair's limp worsen, Jim flagged down a taxi and they rode back to the hotel. The hotel clerk recognized them from before. They were the first pair to arrive so Jim made arrangements to book two rooms, a double for Sam and Packert and a suite for the rest. Naomi could have her own room. They'd figure out the sleeping arrangements later.

Riding an elevator older than the one in the loft, they trudged down the hallway toward their suite. It was the middle of the week and the lobby and hallway had been empty. The hotel seemed happy for their business. Jim unlocked the door and followed Blair inside. The room was aired out and clean. He approved.

"How about going back down for some lunch?"

Blair shook his head, making a bee-line for the bathroom, a few minutes later the shower came on.

Jim found the menu from the hotel's restaurant. He'd order room service.

An hour after they'd eaten, Packert and Sam knocked on the door. Jim let them in with a single finger pressed against his lips. "Sandburg's sleeping."

Both men were showered and had found clean sets of clothes. Packert glanced over at Blair sprawled lengthwise on the sofa, right arm flung off the cushion with fingers touching the carpet. "Everything's squared away. I got you guys a military chopper to take you back to Karachi in the morning. Sam and I are staying here a few more days to help the Pakistan authorities check out Khan's compound. We're heading out in four hours."

Jim nodded, expecting as much. "Might want to cancel your room, then."

"Already done."

Sam gnawed his lip reluctantly. "Not cool. I don't want to split without saying goodbye to Blair."

Jim had just been thinking how pissed his guide would be if he let these two get away without telling him. He leaned over Blair and gently touched his shoulder. "Hey, sloth-man. Wake up."

Opening his eyes with a snort, Blair blinked owlishly at Jim.

"Packert and Sam are taking off. Time to say goodbye."

Blair scrambled off the sofa, patting his empty pockets.

"Here." Jim handed over the same pen and tablet he'd used at the hospital.

Blair scribbled madly.

Packert read it and answered. "We've got orders to accompany the locals back up to Khan's valley. Looks like we'll be staying on a week. I was just telling Jim you guys are flying back tomorrow."

"Dude, I gotta tell you, there's never a dull minute hanging with you." Sam stepped forward and caught Blair in a hug.

Jim smothered a grin, watching Blair hesitate, then return the hug. The two separated and did the manly back slapping to cover the emotional display. Jim stretched out a hand to Packert. "Thanks for the assist. I owe you."

Packert nodded. "I'll remember that. Having a marker on you is valuable in my line."

Then Sam swooped Jim into one of his hippy hugs. Dreadlocks tickled Jim's nose.

"Get off me, you punk," Jim growled in jest. By the time he pulled away, he'd missed whatever goodbye Blair and Packert had done. Knowing Blair, it had been another hug. Jim cuffed Sam's head. "Listen to me, practice every day and obey Packert. You understand?"

Tilting his head, Sam quirked a grin. "This one of those, `do as I say and not as I do' talks, Dad?"

"Asshole," Jim muttered, ignoring Blair's gleeful snorts as he followed them to the door.

They watched the two walk down to the elevator from the doorway to their suite. Blair's knuckles white as he gripped the door frame. Before the car doors slid closed, Sam waved and Packert lifted his chin in goodbye.

"Watch his back, Kid," Jim whispered.

"Yours too," Sam answered.

And they were gone.

Blair tried for the thousandth time to find a comfortable position in his seat. Next to him, Jim twitched, his face inches from Blair's when glacier blue eyes opened.

"What's wrong?" Jim whispered in a scratchy voice.

Both of them were crammed into economy seats on the small international flight. They had left Amsterdam four hours ago and had another five before touching down at SeaTac international.

Mouthing the word `bathroom' Blair waited for Jim to stand before climbing quietly out of the tight space. He made his way down the dimly lit aisle to the rear of the plane. In the seats behind theirs, Naomi was curled in sleep against a dozing Buck's shoulder.

Blair reached the tiny bathroom and took care of his business, splashing palmfuls of water on his face. He studied his reflection carefully, not willing to return to the claustrophobic seats just yet.

He looked so normal, good in fact. All that hiking had given his skin a golden tint. The last few nights of sleep had taken away the dark half-moons under his eyes. Right now he had a nasty case of bedhead, but otherwise he looked like someone who might be returning from a short vacation.

Except he couldn't talk. He couldn't teach. He couldn't help Jim anymore. He was useless.

Blair opened his mouth and tried to see down his throat. It was stupid, really. If that doctor couldn't find it, he wasn't going to see anything either. Closing his eyes, Blair sent up a short prayer.

Make this not be permanent. It's not about me, man. Jim needs to hear my voice.

Starting off slowly, Blair imagined the humming sound he could hum. He pressed harder, willing his dead vocal cords to vibrate.

Nothing.

No sound.

Hanging his head in defeat, he gripped the edge of the stainless steel basin and tried to breathe through his disappointment. Was it too much to ask to be normal again before they touched down in Washington State?

Apparently so.

Blair returned to his seat.

Simon Banks stood next to the baggage carousal waiting for the first glimpse of his friends. Jim's phone call had come out of nowhere. The shock of finding they had left the country paled in comparison to the way too brief scenario of their adventure.

Naomi had been kidnapped.

She was awake from her coma.

They had gotten her back.

Blair was hurt... again.

Easily able to peer over the heads of the other people waiting to meet their party down in the luggage area, Simon wondered if Blair would be in a wheelchair or just using crutches. No, wait, that wouldn't work. Blair still had his wrist in a cast, so he would be in a chair.

Surely they would process a man in a wheelchair first through customs.

Weary strangers started appearing to claim their luggage. Simon fully expected to see Jim's tall frame in the group.

No such luck.

Finally, after most of the plane's passengers had taken their bags and left, Simon saw Buck. A Muslim woman held his arm. She wore a pale lavender tunic over a long skirt and a matching Hajib covered her head.

"Stevens!" Simon raised a hand in greeting, crossing the floor to shake the man's hand.

"Good to see you, Simon." Buck turned to his companion. "This is Simon Banks, Naomi. He's Jim's boss and a good friend to both him and your son."

What the hell?

"N-naomi?"

Naomi looked shyly at Simon and smiled. "How do you do, Mr. Banks."

Punch-shocked, Simon could only nod and mutter an inane, "Ms. Sandburg..." He blinked a few times and looked back at Buck. "Where are..?"

"Waiting for us. Let's get Naomi's bag and go find them." Buck pointed to the moving track that held the leftover luggage. "Do you mind getting the brown bag for us?"

Still in a stupor, Simon followed the pair up the escalator, clutching a medium-sized bag. They crossed the skybridge connecting the airport with the large parking garage. Gray clouds with blackened bottoms hung low in the sky. The wet street below the bridge glittered and passing cars splashed through standing puddles.

"Simon!"

That was Jim's voice, unmistakably. Simon searched the moving throng of humanity until he spotted Jim sporting a grown-out haircut. He stood off to one side, tucked against a concrete pillar the size of an old-growth redwood.

Simon hurried over. The crowd thinned and he saw Blair standing at Jim's side. "You two are a sight for these over-worked, captain's eyes!" Simon dropped Naomi's bag and took Jim's hand. "Welcome home!"

"Good to be back, sir," Jim answered. "Thanks for picking us up."

"Don't worry about it, even borrowed a van--hey, kid! I thought you were hurt. You look fine." Simon reached for Blair's hand with both his.

"Err, Simon..." Jim scratched his neck and cleared his throat. "Blair had something happen to his voice. He can't talk."

Twice in less than half an hour, Simon felt his world tilt. "What?" His dumbfounded look went from Jim to Blair, back to Jim, over to Buck and Naomi who had just joined them and finally back to Blair, noticing his reddening cheeks. "What the hell happened?"

"We don't know much. It could be, er, probably is temporary," Jim stumbled as Blair ducked his chin in and stared at his own feet.

"Who? How--" Simon was cut off.

"We'd appreciate getting out of here first," Jim said with a warning shake of his head. "We're all pretty tired."

Simon showed them to the van. The traffic on Interstate Five was light at first, but clogged as they neared Seattle. Needing to focus on driving, Simon didn't ask the questions circling his brain. Buck and Naomi sat in the far back bench seat, both seemed content to watch the wet buildings glide by. Blair sat behind them. He had his pack and the soft sided carry-on luggage piled next to him on the seat. They made a soft wall and he had fallen asleep leaning against them.

After getting through the worst of the traffic snarl, Simon relaxed in the carpool lane and glanced over at Jim riding shotgun.

"Can you tell me what happened to the man that kidnapped Naomi?"

"He's dead."

Short and sweet.

"Do I need to worry about a call from Interpol or anything?"

That brought a weak smile. "No, everything's fine. Packert handled the international fallout."

"So, did you ever figure out this dead guy's obsession with Sandburg?" Simon asked.

Jim didn't answer for a good mile. His face showed no emotion except for the occasional tightening of his jaw muscles. Finally, he spoke in a quiet voice. "I told you he was a sentinel, like me, right?"

"Yeah."

"I think, and this is only me guessing, but I think he was starting to lose his control. I think that company that he worked for used him so much that he was burning out."

Simon looked surprised. "That can happen to you guys?"

Jim shrugged, crossing his arms. "Happens to everyone."

Simon made a note to talk to Sandburg about what, if anything, he could do to keep Jim from burning out at work. Then he made the connection. "Shit, Blair's part of it. He somehow keeps it from happening to you, right?"

Jim turned, as if to make sure Blair was really sleeping. And he was, complete with snores. Jim shot Simon a knowing look. "He's more than just `part' of what keeps me sane, Simon. Every sentinel needs someone to watch his back. Blair's the best out there."

Looking in his rearview mirror at the young man drooling on Jim's tote bag, Simon nodded and returned his attention to the road. He'd wait until they got back to Cascade and his friends had a chance to get over their jet lag before asking for a full report.

Perhaps over a beer... or maybe a case.

Dust clung to the dark TV screen. The plants needed watering. Simon had stacked the mail into a mini-mountain on the kitchen table while they were gone, yet Blair couldn't remember ever seeing such a beautiful sight as the loft.

The pull to walk into his room was too strong. It was like stepping into a dream when he opened his French doors and entered.

When had he last stood inside his cluttered room?

He didn't know, couldn't remember.

He flicked the wall switch. Bright light filled his space. His bed was unmade, no news there, and several text books were scattered over the small desk and chair. A half full glass of apple juice had a dead fly floating in it. One of his dirty socks peeked from under his bed.

Definitely heaven.

Blair gently set his pack down on the rumpled bedspread and sat. He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath.

Hold.

Release.

One more.

Tense neck muscles let go and gravity urged him to sprawl over the mattress and sleep until next week. Time was all messed up. Time zones and the constant moving and sitting and being crammed into tiny seat lefts him unable to tell a Zuni tribal mask from a paper crown given to kids at Burger King. But the thought of Jim playing host and making decisions guilted him into pushing off the mattress. At least he could unpack and straighten up his room. His mom needed someplace to sleep and this made the most sense.

Dirty clothes were swept into a corner. He would pick them up and stuff them into the hamper in a minute. Something square, heavy and solid, wrapped in thick paper nestled half way down in the main compartment of his pack. What the heck... then he remembered, his bound copy of `Unexplored Syria.' Blair used his pocket knife to cut the string and unwrapped the book with a shiver of pride.

A decent copy of the set ran for over two thousand. Blair had seen such a set down in Portland once. He turned the book over before sitting down at his desk and carefully setting the book down. He opened the cover, glancing over the forward. He touched the words, imagining Burton himself at a desk or hunched over a campfire scribing notes into a field journal. Would his own thoughts ever make print? Should they? Maybe long after both he and Jim were gone. Maybe then it would be a good thing to share his sentinel information with the world.

Turning toward the middle of the book, Blair made a vow to read it in his spare time. He'd check around and see if anyone knew of a decent copy of volume two, maybe start saving his money. Blair froze.

There were notes in the margins.

Someone had written in his book. Blair frowned. What kind of nut writes in a rare book?

The handwriting was in pencil and faint. Blair rummaged through his drawer for a fat eraser. Holding it over the page, he paused to read the scratched words. It wasn't English. What was it? French? No, not that either. He set the eraser aside and turned more pages. The writing seemed to be spread throughout. This was more than a child's mistreatment of a book; these appeared to be careful research notes.

Three penciled words leapt out at him: Sentinel of Paraguay.

Blair sucked in a startled breath. This page was literally filled with notes! Blair had to get someone to translate the notes. Maybe a friend he knew at work could help him.

He rewrapped the book and set it on top of his shelves. He'd get the room squared away first so his Mom could have a place to relax.

Jim checked the front door one last time. The chain was in place. The deadbolt secured. He circled to the back door, moving through the darkness with ease, listening to the sounds of his houseguests in their slumber. Naomi was in Blair's room, he could see the back of her head through the small window.

Back door was locked. Best to check the balcony, just in case.

Buck was stretched out on the sofa, his snores brief and to the point.

Balcony clear. Door locked.

Finally satisfied, Jim unplugged the phone base from the wall and headed up the stairs. It was good to be home. Jim could turn off the parts of his brain that kicked into some type of weird overdrive when he traveled. Now he was home and he had his partner home and all the people he included in his extended family were safe again.

In three days he'd have to report back to work. Simon had been unable to give him more time, but that was okay. It would have to work out. He'd call that VA doctor Packert had hooked them up with and get Blair in right away. Naomi needed a checkup too.

Jim sighed, pausing a moment at the top of his staircase. Soft splats on the skylight told him the rain had started. He'd smelled it for hours. Quietly stripped down to his boxers, Jim eyed his bed, judging the little bit of room his guide had left him on the mattress. For a compact guy, Blair did a good starfish.

Blair had fallen asleep, covered with just a sheet. Slipping into his side of the bed, Jim repositioned Blair's left arm closer to his side.

Blair's eyes opened.

"Hey now, go back to sleep, Sandburg."

Confused, muddled exhaustion and jetlag showed in Blair's face. The kid was awake, but not firing on even half his cylinders.

"Just making some room on the bed, Sandburg," Jim whispered, taking time to stroke Blair's forehead. "Go back to sleep. Everything's good."

Blair responded, closing his eyes and deeply sighing as he relaxed. Jim smiled at the complete trust. When his little brother, Stephen, was sick, Jim used to sit with him, more so after their mom had left home. That trick had kept him asleep. It was good to know it still worked.

The rain fell harder against the skylight. The temperatures inside the loft had dropped and Jim sat up to snag the comforter at the foot of the bed and draw it all the way up, tucking it carefully around Blair's shoulder before he turned on his side and closed his eyes. Behind him, Blair snuffled once in his sleep, shifted a little closer and went still.

For a second, when he opened his eyes, Blair was back in Khan's cage and his first thought was `it's all a dream.' He couldn't be home because his bed was too perfect. The sheets too luxurious. The pillow too soft. Then he saw the rail and remembered he was up in Jim's room.

Blair hadn't wanted to sleep up here. He'd gone to the linen closet where the extra bedding was kept and tried to fix up a place on the floor to sleep last night. Jim needed his own space. Jim had stuffed the bedding back into the closet and insisted on Blair sharing his bed. Blair had tried to explain on a note pad that he was fine with the floor.

Jim's irritation had finally caused Buck to pull Blair aside to explain the reality. No way would Jim get any sleep if he knew Blair was sleeping on the floor. And he and Jim were the only two who could share the bed upstairs because Buck sure as hell wasn't. And if Blair didn't just go up there and sleep, Buck was going to go find a hotel.

So Blair had capitulated.

Now Blair sat up with a yawn, scratching the back of his head, glad he hadn't tried the floor. Through the rails, he could see Buck, Jim and Naomi in the kitchen. Naomi had just finished setting the table for breakfast and Jim was fussing with a pan of eggs. Buck was reading the paper and sipping coffee.

Jim looked up and smiled. "About time, Junior. Get your ass down here before we eat it all."

Blair grumbled under his breath as he flipped back the covers, freezing at the unexpected clatter of pan on stovetop and the slap, slap, slap of Jim racing up the stairs in his slippers.

"Sandburg!" Jim shouted, grabbing Blair by the shoulders and lifting him off the mattress so fast that Blair's feet dangled in mid-air for a second. "WHAT DID YOU JUST CALL ME?"

Stunned, Blair blinked up at his friend.

Jim shook him. "Don't you get it? You SPOKE!"

`Ohmygod, ohmygod,' Blair's brain chanted. He opened his mouth and tried again. "....'im? I... c-can--oof!" The rest was smashed into Jim's robe as he was caught up in Jim's hug.

More feet on the stairs. Buck and Naomi appeared at Jim's side.

"He's talking?" Buck demanded. "Let him go, Ellison. Give him a chance to breathe."

"He's better? Really? This is wonderful!" Naomi added, beaming and patting Blair's arm.

Jim held him at arms length again. "Try again."

Suddenly self-conscious, Blair felt his cheeks warm up. "What's f'r break'ast?"

That caused a round of laughter. Jim had the `give the kid a noogie look' in his eyes and Blair held up his hands to ward him off. Rescue came in the form of Buck's arm around his shoulders, tugging him toward the stairs. "Let's get you some food."

Breakfast was a party. Blair's voice was still scratchy but he started to form full words. Jim finally stood and carried his plate to the sink. "I'll check the VA and get you an appointment."

"No need, man," Blair countered. "I'm fine. A little honey and tea.... rest, I'll b' fine."

Jim turned with a disapproving look. "You don't know that, Sandburg. You're talking now, but you should still be examined."

"I was."

"I meant here in the States."

"I was examined by an American doct'r, Jim," Blair pointed out.

"Sandburg, don't be an ass. You had something done that needs to be carefully checked out."

Standing, Blair carefully put his chair back under the table, embarrassed this was turning into another one of Jim's `big brother knows best' talks, and in front of Buck and his mom. "I need to call Rainier and get my next quarter squared away. I'm not wastin' a day in a hospital."

"Packert went through the trouble-- "

"Jim! Give it a rest!" Blair snapped, voice rough again.

It was Naomi who interrupted the awkward silence that followed. "Blair, maybe you should go in for an examination. You teach, right? You need your voice. I think Jim's right."

Oh, perfect, just freaking perfect. The magnitude of Naomi's change hit hard. Blair stared in disbelief at her. She used to shun western medicine as a blight on mankind. "I can't believe you just said that," Blair said. "Naomi, you should be suggesting a retreat for me, not siding with Jim!"

Sudden tears spilled from his mother's eyes. She turned to Buck, who put an arm around her shoulder and shot Blair a hopeless look. Jim rubbed his jaw unhappily.

Blair couldn't deal with it anymore. "I'm taking a shower."

Naomi was packing.

Blair paced between the sofa and kitchen table looking like a lost child.

Jim sighed, keeping his voice soft enough so as not to carry into the small bedroom, he said, "Sandburg, she just asked for some time."

"No, man. I blew it. I completely blew it."

"I don't think so. I think she's processing."

Blair snorted unhappily. "No, the `old' Naomi would say that. This one doesn't know what that means."

"She's still your mother. She's confused."

"Actually, she's acting like the old Naomi." Blair hung his head. "I freaked her out, man. She's running from me."

"You don't know that."

Blair shot him a look of disbelief. "I know my mom."

"Hey, at least she's going to Dry Falls." Jim finished putting the last clean dish back into the cupboard. "The doctors gave her a clean bill of health. But just in case, Buck will keep an eye on her."

Blair glanced at the front door. "He should be back by now. How long does it take to rent a stupid car?"

Anger. So much anger in Blair's voice. Jim shrugged and started to answer when he heard the familiar sound of Blair's car turning the corner. "He's here."

A few minutes later Buck entered the loft and accepted Jim's offering of hot coffee. "The agency followed me out with the car." Buck sipped the coffee and sat at the table. "She packed?"

"Not yet." Jim held the nearly full pot up for Blair to see and wagged his eyebrows. Blair shook his head so he poured another mug for himself. "You sure we can't drive you over? It's no bother."

"It's probably best if you didn't."

Blair groaned. "I blew it, didn't I?"

"Don't turn this around so you can take the blame, Blair. Your mother is not upset with you. She's upset that she doesn't know you." Buck propped his elbows on the table and cradled his coffee with both hands.

Blair dropped into the opposite chair. "Wait and leave in the morning," he pleaded.

Buck eyed the younger man over the rim of his coffee mug. "Nothing personal, runt. But a third night on that sofa is one too many. Aren't you getting tired of bunking with Ellison?"

"I don't want her to leave."

Jim kept quiet, letting Buck deal with this.

Buck set the mug down and crossed his arms on the table. "Blair, this isn't just about you. Your mother feels lost and confused."

"Then she should stay with me. I'm her family."

"Yes, you are. And she knows that. But she's probably afraid she's going to inadvertently hurt you by not being the person you want her to be." Buck tapped the table with a tanned finger and tilted his head. "The question you need to ask yourself here is, do you have the strength to give her the time she needs to figure this all out?"

Blair leaned back, his chest rising and falling in a deep sigh. "What if... she doesn't come back?"

"Do you really think she'd leave forever?" Buck asked.

Blair shrugged.

"How about this? Give her a month, then if nothing changes, come out and visit."

Before Blair could answer, Jim heard the suitcase snap closed in the bedroom. "Guys, she's coming out."

Naomi was all brave smiles as she walked out of Blair's room. "Thank you again, Jim, for everything you've done for me and for being such a wonderful host." Buck took the suitcase from her hand and set it by the door. Naomi stood next to the pillar, twisting her hands.

Blair stood. "Um... is it okay if I call you? A lot?"

Naomi's timid grin grew. "Of course."

Bobbing his head, Blair shuffled his feet like a schoolboy. "I'd like to."

Then Jim saw her do a very `Naomi-like' move as her face softened into a warm smile and she opened her arms. "How about a hug until we see each other again, then?"

Blair quickly accepted the invitation and Jim caught the scent of tears. He heard Blair's choked `goodbye', muffled into Naomi's shoulder.

Naomi's whispered, "Thank you for understanding, Blair."

Then Buck was shaking Jim's hand and Blair walked his mother to the door and accepted a brief hug from Buck as Naomi hugged Jim. With her lips close to Jim's ear, she told him, "Please watch out for him."

"I will."

Then the door was closed and they were gone and Blair stood staring at the Heron poster with wet eyes.

"Chief." Jim didn't even know where to begin.

"I hate him, Jim."

That was a shock. "Stevens?"

"Khan, that bastard." A fat tear spilled and Blair dashed it off his face with the back of his hand. He made a visible effort to rein in his emotions, straightening his shoulders and standing tall. "He stole her from me."

"Hey, take a step back here for a minute. Your mom is not stolen."

"Yes, she is," Blair looked up at Jim. "Didn't you see it? Naomi's more emotionally attached to Buck right now than me. I'm her son!"

"So... what, you're giving up?" Jim asked.

"No!" Blair turned, striding into the living room to start pacing again. "Don't be stupid, man. Of course not. God! I'm just so freaking pissed off! I wish he wasn't dead so I could go back and kill him myself," Blair shouted. More tears spilled. "If mom had woken up in a hospital. If everything had been normal. If she'd seen me by her bed and not--"

The lamp never had a chance. Blair attacked without hesitation, swinging his arm and smashing it to the floor with a crash. Pottery shards scattered over the rug and hardwood as Blair fervently looked around for something else to destroy.

Moving fast, Jim caught Blair's arm and pull him away from the destruction before he cut his stocking feet in the rubble. "Hey, if you want to punch something, we'll go down to the gym and strap on some boxing gloves."

"Don't tempt me!" Blair fired back.

Jim couldn't help but feel defensive. "What did I do?"

Blair tried to twist his arm from Jim's hold, smacking Jim's shoulder with his left hand, causing a jolt of pain to shoot through his healing wrist. "Oow! Shit, man."

"Damn! I'm sorry!" Jim let go.

The fight leached away as Blair slumped onto the sofa. "Not your fault. I'm just... What's wrong with me? Hell, I should be happy she's back. I mean, as long as she's healthy, right?"

Squatting down to pick up the larger lamp pieces, Jim answered, "You know what the doctor said. She just needs time."

"Right, sure... time." Blair scrubbed his face. "Whatever."

Setting the pieces on the coffee table and leaving the rest to be cleaned up later, Jim dropped down on the sofa next to his friend. "So, what's all this about?"

"Nothing." Blair focused on unraveling the white threads forming the edge of a new hole in his old jeans. "I'm being stupid."

Jim nudged his shoulder with his own. "You mean more than normal?" he teased.

Blair sniffed, shrugged and bit his lip. "It just feels like...her memories... gone. My whole family..."

Jim dropped his arm over Blair's neck and pulled him close. "You still have Buck around to kick your butt when you need it."

"I'm safe if he doesn't have a wooden spoon in his hand."

That image brought an amused snort. Yet, Jim could understand where Blair was coming from. Jim wasn't that close to his own family, but he did find comfort in knowing his old man and Steven, even Sally, held memories of his early life. How would he feel if they were all gone?

`No, I have Sandburg,' Jim told himself. `I have my guide. And right now he's hurting.'

"Buck's not your only extended family member, you know. I may not have had the pleasure of knowing you as a punk kid, but I consider myself enough big brother material to belong to your clan." Jim jostled his guide. "Think you can relinquish your crown of `only child'?"

Blair's jaw dropped. "Seriously?"

Jim grew serious. "Raksha was right. I might growl about needing more space, but she was dead on. You're taken, Sandburg. We know there are other sentinel and guide teams out there, they can't be half as good as the team we make. We're tighter than brothers."

Shock faded and Blair's expression broke into a weak smile, his eyes shiny with pleasure. "Thanks, man. I feel the same way."

"No problem, Junior. But you're still replacing the lamp."

The End, for now.

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