Jim Ellison stood on the hummock and surveyed the waking land before him. A huge gravel bed filled sections of the canyon floor. Large boulders lay forgotten, carried down by a massive ice age flood originating two states away.

The brittle morning air had a bite. Later, the temperatures would likely reach the eighties. Right now Jim was glad he'd worn long sleeves. He watched expanding ripple rings play on the surface of the lakes below. Trout chased their breakfast. Mayflies raced for survival. Sometimes the trout won. Other times the mayflies broke free from their birthwaters, returning later lay their eggs.

The cycle of life.

Jim turned his back on the canyon and followed the trail toward the house where Blair Sandburg and Buck Stevens slept. Jim wasn't tired. He had dozed during the trip from Cascade. Buck had insisted on driving and Jim was happy to let him. Blair had simply stared straight ahead. He did begin to respond with single syllable answers to questions like `are you hungry', but that was the only sign he'd returned to them. Shocky was the best word to describe his partner's state. When they had reached Buck's home, Blair had gone straight to bed.

Reaching the front porch, Jim heard a shout. Blair was awake. From the sounds of it, he had just awoken from a doozy of a nightmare. Jim ran, skidding on the hardwood floor as he overcorrected the sharp turn from the hall into the guest bedroom.

Blair was sitting up in his bed, shouting and gasping for air. Buck knelt on the mattress, trying to calm him down.

"Sandburg!" Jim bellowed as he dropped to a knee next to the twin-sized bed.

"He won't listen to me!" Buck yelled.

Jim crowded between the two men. Some of Blair's screams were starting to make sense. "HISHEADHISHEAD..." Blair chanted over and over, eyes tightly closed as his hands pushed at the blankets covering his legs.

Jim instinctively swung his hand, palm open. The sharp slap echoed off the wall. "Blair! Wake up!"

It worked. Blair's eyes snapped open, the final scream caught in his throat. He collapsed forward in a boneless heap.

"Come on, Sandburg." Jim coaxed the younger man upright again. Buck had stepped away. Jim took his place, sitting on the edge of the mattress. "You with us?"

His eyelashes spiked with moisture, Blair was half awake. It made him look far younger than his years. When he spoke, the impression was stronger. "Where's Naomi?"

Okay, that was unexpected. Jim glanced at Buck, unsure what to say.

Blair blinked. "J-jim?"

"Right here." Jim patted his arms before turning him free. "You okay?"

Blair reached up to touch Jim's cheek, his expression telling the other two men that even though he could see Jim, he still didn't believe Jim was real. "H-here. You're here," he whispered.

"I'll make coffee," Buck said as he backed out of the room.

Sitting still, Jim let Blair return at his own pace. An old fashioned wind up alarm clock, complete with twin bells on top, ticked away. Dust mites swirled through a sunbeam that filtered through the narrow opening between the curtains. Blair's breathing hitched. He dropped his arm as if it had turned into a solid hunk of lead and leaned against the wall. Eyes bloodshot, nose red and complexion pale, he was a mess.

Jim reached for the tissue box on the small bed stand. He plucked out three squares, pushed them into Blair's hand and watched quietly as they were used. Blowing his nose twice, Blair finally met Jim's gaze.

"I dreamt..." he whispered, his vocal chords raw. "...that it was y-your head."

Jim's gut twisted, but he forced a light reply. "Yeah? What do you think Sigmund would say? A hidden desire to get the last word in around the loft?"

Blair snorted wetly. He pressed his fingertips to his temples. A single tear broke free. "Hurts."

Buck returned, setting an opened water bottle next to the tissue box. Jim scooped it up. "You need fluids, kid. We'll get you some aspirin." Buck nodded, leaving and returning once more with a bottle. Jim shook out two pills and waited until Blair held out his hand. After taking the medicine and drinking half the water, Blair handed it back.

"Let's give that some time to work. How about you lay back down?" Jim suggested.

Blair curled back onto his side.

"If you want to talk some more, I'm listening." Jim drew the blanket back up.

"Just want to forget," Blair whispered.

"It's not always that easy," Jim warned. "You know that."

Blair's answer was silence. Grasping the corners of his pillow, he squashed it to his face, shutting out the light. Jim got the message. He stood, careful not to jostle the mattress. Buck had left. "I'm a word away, Chief."

The answer was muffled by pillow. "I know. Thanks, man."

Wandering into the living room to find it empty, Jim scrubbed his face wearily. They'd come to Eastern Washington to regroup and form a strategy. He'd told Simon they had to make repairs.

Repairs.

Jim wished it were that easy.

He went to find Buck.

The orchard owner stood in his backyard staring fiercely at a neatly tilled vegetable garden. Jim smelled cigar smoke. Wisps of the fragrant, white smoke rose in spirals. Buck didn't look like he was enjoying it.

"He's resting," Jim reported, standing by the man's side.

Buck grunted in acknowledgment. He puffed a few moments then carefully removed the cigar with one hand. "I'm going to kill the bastards."

Jim raised an eyebrow.

Buck maneuvered a speck of tobacco around with his tongue before politely spitting it out. He lifted the cigar back to his lips, his eyes never leaving the garden. "Just thought you should know," he declared.

When Blair woke a second time, the room was warm. His mind fuzzy from too much sleep, it took a minute to remember where he was and another to remember why. That memory caused the dull, thudding pain in his temples to awaken as well.

His skin crawled.

No, Blair refused to think about it anymore. It's over and done with.

Jim stuck his head in the doorway. "Lunch is ready, if you're hungry."

Blair visited the restroom first before going into the kitchen. His legs and arms felt sluggish, like he'd been sleeping for weeks. Buck stood by the stove, spooning stew into bowls. "Hey, how are you feeling?"

"Good," Blair answered without really considering if it was true. He took a seat next to Jim.

The smell and the sight of the stew threatened to turn his stomach inside out. Blair pushed it away and helped himself to a triangle of hot cornbread. Buck used an ancient cast iron skillet to bake cornbread. When the garden was in full swing, Buck would add whole kernels of tender corn. How Blair had marveled over finding real corn in cornbread. Naomi had raised him on hummus and goat cheese. Buck had introduced him to pot roast and cornbread. Blair tore off a bite size piece and stuffed it into his mouth.

Jim eyed him thoughtfully. "If you're up to it, we need to form a strategy."

"I already told Jim about the attack on us, the gas they used to knock us out," Buck added. "Jim was telling me about his meeting with the woman that left you the note."

"What's not clear yet is if Chardonnay was working with or against the people in charge." Jim had found a pad of paper and a pen. "She obviously knew how to take out a sentinel," Jim continued. "I couldn't have stopped her even if I'd had cause."

"You say she wanted to meet with Blair to warn him?" Buck asked.

"Yeah." Jim tilted his bowl and scraped the last spoonful before going back to scratching notes on paper. "If she really works with this Morton guy, then chances are good Paraho International knows about sentinels. Did they learn about us from Lanfers?"

"He didn't have all five," Blair felt compelled to say.

"Right." Jim stood and refilled his bowl from the pot on the stove. "Maybe that's why he left them."

"But they got interested in him again when he was in Monroe," Buck reasoned. "What if he quit or even escaped from them?"

"Could be." Jim sat down and scooped a chunk of meat with his spoon. He started to put it in his mouth but stopped and returned the bite to the bowl. He drew a circle around the word Paraho and drew a line across the page to where he had written Swan. "So then we need to find the link between a company Lanfers worked for and the company this Dupont character went to work for."

Buck pushed his own empty bowl aside and leaned his elbows on the table. "And Dupont had the vision thing going for him."

"Possibly." Jim shot Blair a measuring look. "Sandburg, what do you remember about your time with Dupont?"

The monster. Dupont was the monster. It seemed weird to have a name for his nightmare.

"Not much." Blair used the side of his palm to brush the cornbread crumbs off the table and into his other hand. He dumped them on a paper towel he was using as a napkin. "He joined the protest later on in the program. I remember things were starting to heat up. The cops would come by the camp nightly."

"Naomi said he took you," Jim said.

"I don't remember that part," Blair answered, his stomach fluttering again.

"What part do you remember?" Jim asked. "It might be important."

The kitchen was getting too warm. Blair pushed back from the table. "I'd tell you if I could, man. The memory is gone."

"Gone?" Buck raised an eyebrow challengingly. "Or did your mother show you how to hide it?"

"Either way, I don't remember." Blair stood up and left. He needed some air.

Jim walked down to the lake with one of Buck's towels draped around his neck. He wore cut-offs and his tennis shoes without the socks. The shoreline was broken rock. The water was clear and Jim could see where the bottom fell away. The shallow lake bottom appeared to be a mesa top with an underwater cliff, similar to the cliffs above them.

Blair was swimming with easy strokes a hundred feet offshore. As Jim watched, he rolled over to float on his back, eyes closed, legs kicking without any real desire to go anywhere.

Jim left his towel on a nearby boulder, toed off his sneakers and carefully waded out into the water. The cool temperature made him shiver and he dialed down his sense of touch until it was no longer noticeable. At the edge of the shelf, he dove forward, his arms cutting into the water as his body followed. Opening his eyes, he watched perch and rainbow trout swim away in fear. The depth of the water was dizzying. An irrational feeling of fear, of the unknown beneath his body made him want to turn back. Instead, Jim closed his eyes again and kicked hard until his head was above the gentle waves again and the world looked friendly once more.

Blair was still floating. Jim swam over to join him. "Do this often?"

Raising his head, Blair rotated his body to tread water. He looked at Jim in surprise. "Hey."

Jim nodded back at the shoreline. "Hell of a first step."

"Buck say's it's a sixty foot drop," Blair said.

"Yeah?" Jim answered. "I guess he'd know. You swim here a lot as a kid?"

"Yeah, good way to stay cool." Blair rolled face down and moved like an Olympic contender.

Jim sometimes forgot what an athlete his partner really was. From basketball to swimming, track and field to dancing, it didn't matter. If it involved moving then Blair wanted to try it. The guy had endurance.

Just about the time Jim was wondering if he would get a stomach cramp, or was that just an old wives' tale, Blair popped his head up and changed course. Jim followed. His toe brushed a muddy bottom and he realized they had reached a rock island. Blair scrambled up, water dripping from his body. Jim followed, carefully checking hand holds. The last thing he wanted to grab was a rattle snake.

"Notice anything about this island?" Blair asked.

"It's got a lot of bird shit?" Jim answered as he stepped in goose droppings.

"Other than that." Blair waved a hand at the cliffs to the north. "This is columnar basalt. This whole island was once part of the upper cliff. The flood knocked it off and brought it to the middle of the lake. See? It's tilted on its side."

The long, uniform column looked like telephone poles stacked together. It was the same rock formation that lined the upper cliffs. Jim nodded. "Yeah, you're right."

"Buck caught me jumping off the end there. See where the rock juts out a bit over the edge? I was doing cannonballs first. Then I started swan dives."

The water under the overhang wasn't that deep. In some places, the rock was just inches below the surface. Jim frowned.

"I know, I know. I got grounded... again, for that." Blair scratched his cheek. Droplets of lake water hung in his beard stubble. He sighed. "God, things were so... basic back then."

A rough bench of stone jutted out from the side of the cliff. Blair made his way carefully, picking his steps. Jim followed. It had been ages since he'd tried walking barefoot and this was not the place to reacquaint a person with the habit. Sharp stones and long thorny seeds littered the ground. It took Jim twice as long before he could sit beside his partner.

"Just how many calluses do you have on your feet, Sandburg?" Jim grumbled good-naturedly. He was rewarded with a subdued, but genuine smile.

"Sometimes I think I spent three-quarters of my life barefoot, man."

Since the younger man seemed to be living in the past, Jim joined him. "Never really liked it. Wore those sponge flip-flops in the summer, for those rare times it really got hot. My old man wasn't big on family vacations, so I never got to walk a beach until I joined the army. Took some practice, but I liked the sand."

Blair tilted his head as he studied Jim's profile. "Might be your sentinel abilities. Your sense of touch could have overloaded with the unknown data." He jutted his jaw to one side and frowned in thought. "I'd need a way to test that, only your feet have already grown accustomed..."

Jim shuddered in mock horror. "You are not getting me to sit naked on one of those rock slides under these cliffs."

Blair huffed. "Talus slopes."

"Whatever."

"Too bad, I'd have proof you're a smart ass."

Jim grinned, enjoying the fact some of Blair's pluck was returning. "I thought that was a given, Junior."

Blair leaned forward on his rocky perch, his hands braced on either side of his legs, elbows straight, like he was going to spring out of his pose and into the water.

"Blair," Jim said. "I know you don't want to remember this thing with Dupont. But it's important."

"I know." Blair wrinkled his brow. "It's just hard to sort everything out in my mind. Dupont and Lanfers. It's getting mixed up."

"How?"

"I'm not sure." Blair paused and swallowed. Even though the sun was hot and most of the water had already evaporated off their skin, the smaller man shivered. "When I was left in that place, God, the smell ..." Blair squeezed his eyes shut. He whispered, "I just wanted to be here again."

Which memory was Blair remembering? The time with Dupont or one of the times Lanfers took him. Nothing more followed and Jim dared to ask, "Tell me about the place, Chief."

"Dark."

"What else?"

Opening his eyes and straightening, Blair shook his wet curls. "Nothing. Nothing else. That's all I remember, except..." He stood up and turned his back on the lake to gaze up at the cliff. "I wonder..."

To Jim's surprise, Blair started climbing. "Hey! Get off of that, Sandburg. Where you going?"

"Up." Blair disappeared over the edge. Jim concentrated hard, listening for any wildlife above. He could hear Blair's body talk to him, lungs working, heart beating. Everything sounded normal. A small group of birds took wing as Blair entered their terrain. Jim thought about following. He looked for the finger and toe holds. The cliff was not that high, only about fifteen feet. "Sandburg?"

"I'm here." His head appeared over the lip of basalt, wet hair looked like long, curly shavings from a dark wood.

"What are you doing? You're not going to dive, are you?"

"Would you tell Buck?"

"Yes!"

"Then no, I'm not diving." Blair snorted. "I'm looking for something." He disappeared again.

Jim had always hated being left out of things. He climbed.

The mesa-like top of the little island was tilted. Scrappy tuffs of grass and stiff, tiny bushes clung to the dirt trapped between the old lava crumbles. More bird dung littered the edges, looking like white chalk marks on a dark, blotchy black board. Blair squatted, bent over a pile of loose rocks. He poked around the rocks intently.

Jim pigeon-toed over to his side. "You're going to find a snake if you keep that up."

"Oh, I found it."

`It' turned out to be an old tin box, like the type that held Altoids mints. The labeling had weathered off completely. Blair worked the lid, making a face from the effort. When he pried the lid off, he peered in with wonder. "Wow."

"What?"

"This was my first time capsule," Blair explained, holding the metal box out for Jim's inspection. "I think I was thirteen. I read about time capsules and wanted to try it. Totally forgot it was here until now, man."

Jim looked at the collection; a coiled leather cord, dark with age, a cracked marble, a quarter and odds bits of broken jewelry. Jim smiled. It was the sort of stuff a kid might treasure.

Blair carefully picked up the cord. "Cool, huh? Fossilized shark tooth."

"Your first encounter with an attorney, Sandburg?" Jim teased.

"Naomi dated an attorney once." Blair returned the treasure and replaced the lid. He pushed it down with force before stuffing it into his pocket. "Poor man was never the same after that."

It was good to see a bit of normal Blair again. Jim marveled at the guy's resilience. Coming back to Dry Falls was a good idea. But giving the man time to recover was only part of the reason. They had to make plans. They made their way back to the edge and started to climb down.

"See? The guy just knows when to watch." Blair pointed across the water.

Buck stood on the porch with binoculars. Jim zoomed in on his face. Buck looked worried. He pointed up. Jim looked up at the sky. Dark clouds had breached the horizon, moving quickly. The light breeze that had blown over the canyon floor began to gust. Cat paws danced over the lake's surface, changing quickly to mini white caps. Living in the bottom of the coolie had disadvantages. Storms could sneak up on a person.

"We'd better head in," Jim warned. "We're going to be swimming into this wind."

It took three times longer to reach the lake's edge. And they were nowhere near where they had left their sneakers. Jim was exhausted. Swimming had never been his favorite sport. Part of that was his fear of open water. Gravity felt twice as strong as he scrambled up the steep bank to where a pair of tire ruts formed a rough road around the east side of the lake.

"We've got some rough weather coming in," Buck called from above. He stood on the trail holding two pairs of tennis shoes.

The wind whipped the dirt into dancing clouds. They quickly donned their shoes and hurried back toward the house. Large drops of warm rain hit as they passed the barn, jogging for the porch.

"Whew! We made it!" Blair panted just as the first crack of thunder rolled up the canyon. He rubbed the goose bumps on his arms and turned and looked at the sky with awe. "Storms here are so cool."

Jim shivered. It had dropped a good ten degrees.

The storm soaked the ground, causing rivers of muddy colored water to form a pattern of mini gullies that flowed toward the lake. It pounded the roof and overfilled the gutters. The windows, brand new after the house fire, barely shuddered in their frames.

Blair pulled the blanket tightly around his shoulders and looked away from the window, down to his lap. The contents of his box had survived the swim. He knew they would. They had stayed dry when he had taken them out to bury over ten years ago.

Heavy looking, dark clouds brought dusk to the mid-afternoon. An hour ago, the power had gone out. All three of them had gone out to check the breakers, only to find them fine. The storm had blown a transformer somewhere along the line. Then they had checked on the barn and made sure nothing important was getting wet. Finally Buck had taken his truck and driven over to check on the family that worked for him, but they were fine.

Now Jim and Buck were working together in the kitchen. They had pulled out a camping stove. He could smell clam chowder simmering. Jim walked into the living room with two mugs. He wore his Cascade PD sweatshirt and flannel pajama bottoms that Blair had never seen before.

"Coffee?"

Blair took the hot mug from Jim's hand. "Thanks."

Jim settled into the adjacent chair. He leaned back, sinking into the soft leather with an appreciative sigh. The tips of his short hair stuck up in damp spikes. He looked tired.

"Jim?" Blair looked down at his coffee, taking a second to feel the heat soak into his palms. "What are we doing here?"

"Other than sitting in the dark and listening to the storm?" Jim answered with a smirk.

The humor was ignored. "You're missing work. I'm supposed to be at Rainier. I've got a lecture to give tomorrow and I'm missing classes." He looked around. "I love this place, but what are we doing here?"

Jim studied him quietly, eyes unblinking. He sipped his coffee before answering. "You just want to forget it, don't you? Pretend the entire weekend didn't happen?" Jim leaned forward. "Sandburg, I'm not going to ignore this. They dumped a headless body in my city. They attacked you."

"And you."

Jim waved a hand dismissively. "And they know about me. I want to know what they plan on doing with this insight. Are we still in danger?"

"You said she was trying to warn us off." Blair clutched his coffee in one hand and his tin box in the other. "Maybe they don't want anything to do with us, if we leave them alone."

Shaking his head, looking disappointed, Jim answered, "No, Blair. This sentinel thing is part of it, but I'm a cop first and foremost. They murdered someone. I'm not forgetting it."

Blair knew this, yet he hoped Jim would walk away from this mystery. He was scared, with a gut feeling that somehow this would be the case which could end everything. A blast of wind threw rain at the large living room window. A true nor' westerner had hit. Blair shivered, suddenly chilled to the bone.

"The other night, when I said you could walk, I meant it." Jim looked pained. "If this is too much, I'd understand. Just promise me you'll stay here while I check this out. You can pick up your studies in the fall term, right?"

Blair shook his head. "No!" The coffee slopped over the mug's rim. The liquid burned the back of his hand. Blair set his tin aside on the sofa cushion and switched the mug to his other hand while he wiped the coffee on his sweat pants. "I'm not staying behind. If you're... if this is something you need to do, then I'm going."

Some of the pain eased on Jim's face. "I'm not ashamed to admit that I was hoping you'd feel that way. But, Sandburg, you might have to deal with Dupont. Lanfers is dead, Dupont might be the key to bringing these people down."

Blair picked up the tin. "I've been thinking about that."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, I could try meditating." Blair drew in a deep breath and blew it out. "Might remember something."

Jim looked eager. "What do you need?"

"Uncle Buck has some emergency candles."

Even though Blair had tried to explain it was better to meditate on an empty stomach, Buck had insisted they eat dinner first. The house had grown cool, so they ate in the living room with the fireplace giving off a soothing heat. The chowder was from a can. They finished the cornbread from lunch and had instant chocolate pudding for dessert. Jim ate Blair's share of the dessert. After dinner, Blair got set up while Jim hovered uncertainly.

"Ready?" Jim lit the candle.

Sitting cross-legged on the rug, Blair rolled his shoulders to loosen them up before deliberately taking his meditation pose. He wore his shark tooth necklace. "Jim," Blair admonished softly. "I'm not into audiences. Go wash the dishes or something."

"Bossy, new-age, hippie punks," Jim groused, but rose to join Buck in the kitchen.

A camping lantern hissed from the kitchen table, bathing the room in yellow, harsh light. Jim squinted until he adjusted. "Got kicked out."

"Not surprised." Buck transferred a large kettle of water from the camping stove to a low wooden stool. "There's a dish pan under the sink. We'll have to do this the old fashioned way."

"Wasn't there enough hot water left?" Jim found the pan and took the washrag from the wooden dowel that hinged out from the wall by the sink.

"Need electricity to run the well pump," Buck explained.

"I'm seeing a spit bath in my near future."

"What for? Didn't you take a nice dip in the lake today?"

"See? This is why the Navy never got dates. Personal hygiene involves using soap." Jim tested the water. Hot, just the way he liked it. He dialed down his sense of touch and added dish soap. Buck had another pan of warm water ready for rinsing.

"I'll dry," Buck said.

After the kitchen was clean, they checked on Blair. He sat as if a solitary figure painted on canvas, eyes closed, breathing even and steady. It always unnerved Jim to see him so still. He borrowed Buck's current `Farmer's Almanac' and amused himself in the pages of weather predictions. Buck donned an oily, canvas duster and slipped out the back door to finish a few jobs he had in the barn.

Thirty minutes later, Jim saw the change.

Blair twitched. His breathing increased. A tiny, distress filled sound escaped his lips. Jim set aside the book and quickly slipped outside. He dashed through the rain and found Buck working by lantern in front of a rough plank constructed workbench. The housing of what looked like an irrigation pump and its contents had been spread out in orderly fashion.

"He's started." Jim turned and ran back into the house.

Sweatshirt now rain soaked, Jim stripped it off, using the inside to towel the majority of the water from his hair. He knelt before his partner. Short huffs of air poured from Blair's nose. He had begun rocking back and forth. Buck yanked open the door, slowing down when Jim held up a hand in warning.

"Blair?" Jim said carefully. "Can you hear me?"

"L-let me go," Blair pleaded. His voice sounded impossibly young.

Shit. Jim had hoped Blair would remember his time with Dupont. Not re-live it. How was he supposed to proceed? He'd sat in on a few sessions where the police had used regression therapy with victims. Could he do this?

"Where are you?"

"Naomi doesn't like when I leave without telling her."

Jim bit his lip, sparing a quick glance at Buck who knelt down next to him. He took a gamble. "Has Dupont taken you from the protest camp?"

"Let me go." Blair sounded strong, even mad.

This was probably the beginning.

"Listen to me, Blair. Listen to my voice. You're not really with Paul Dupont right now. You're watching this. Just like television, Chief. Dupont can't hurt you. I want you to talk as you watch. Tell me everything."

Blair's body seemed to relax as Jim spoke. Buck nodded approvingly. Jim continued, taking courage, "First, tell me about Paul. What does he look like?"

"Naomi say's he's handsome, but I think he's ugly. His aura is dark. Why can't she see it?" A deep frown marred Blair's forehead.

Jim was hoping for things like hair and eye color. He passed a hand over his mouth. Maybe that was too detailed. "Where are you now?"

"We're in his car." Blair trembled. His voice sounded young and scared. "He... he's tied my hands together."

Out of the corner of one eye, Jim caught movement. He knocked away Buck's reaching hand. A touch could bring Blair out of his trance. He shook his head in warning, ignoring the angry look Buck returned. "Blair, remember. You're only watching. You're safe. Do you understand?"

"Safe?"

"That's right. He can't hurt you. When you see him touch you, you can't feel it."

"Okay."

"Where is he taking you?" Jim asked.

"To a building with lots of fencing. We parked and walked a long way. He knew the numbers to press. I saw a guard." Blair reached out his arms, crossed at the wrists as if bound. "I want to yell. He tied a rag in my mouth."

"You're just watching, Blair. What is Dupont doing now?" Jim asked.

Blair hunched his shoulders. "Stay here. Stay quiet," he whispered.

Jim grew nervous. Blair was supposed to be an observer. He was acting like a participant again. A stark flash of lighting threw the room into relief. Thunder rolled up the valley and pass over them. The noise caused Blair to whimper in fear. Now Jim wanted to lay a hand on his shoulder in support. He didn't.

"Where did Dupont go?" Jim asked, keeping on task.

"He's gone through a door. I can see one of those international signs on it. He shouldn't be in there. We're gonna get in trouble."

Before Jim could ask another question, Blair cut loose with a startled scream. Jim jumped.

"He's got me!" Blair shouted. "He's got me!"

"Who, Sandburg?" Jim shouted back.

"Jim, bring him out," Buck demanded.

"Hold it." Jim blocked Buck's reach again. "Blair! You're just watching, remember? No one can hurt you!"

Blair trembled. His `bound' arms raised to protect his head, he twisted as if someone had him by the collar. "The guard found me." Blair panted through his terror.

"Okay, okay. It's okay. He's not going to hurt-"

"Noooo!" Blair shouted. He wailed long and hard until he had no breath left.

Buck knocked Jim aside and grabbed the younger man by the shoulders. "Wake up, Blair!" He shook once. "Wake up now!"

"He shot him!" Blair screamed. His eyes flew open. "He shot him in the back of the head. Oh, God! Oh, God!"

Jim shifted until he was behind his partner. He pressed a palm against Blair's forehead, pulling his head back against his shoulder. He circled his other arm around the quaking man and whispered into Blair's ear. "You're back now. Wake up, Chief. You're okay."

The combined effort of both men brought Blair home, looking like someone who had just finished a triathlon. He panted for air. Muscles trembled in exhaustion. His face was flushed and hot.

Blair wiped his wet cheeks with both hands, looking at his palms, his eyes dilated to fullness in the dark. "Is it off? Get it off. I can smell it. Got to get it all off, man."

"What?" Buck asked.

Jim turned Blair free. "Stevens, the guard was shot in the back of the head, where do you think the brains went?" Jim whispered.

"Well, hell," Buck muttered.

"Blair?" Jim turned the younger man by the shoulders until he could see into the blue eyes. "That was thirteen years ago."

"Ohshitohman, Jim," Blair exclaimed softly. He sagged. "Oh... wow, I remember."

"I figured. You okay?" Jim caught his hand as it reached up again. "No. It's not really there. Come on, kid. It's over."

"Dupont murdered the guard. He shot him. He just shot him. I couldn't do anything," Blair said, his voice rising as he spoke.

Jim cupped his cheeks and got right in his face. "You did not do anything wrong. Dupont is the murderer, Sandburg. You were kidnapped."

"But, I must've made a noise," Blair whispered wretchedly. "How else did he find me? It's my fault, Jim."

No wonder Blair had suppressed this memory. He had only been twelve years old. "Did Dupont tell you that? He was playing you, Chief. You were a child. He did it to control you."

Blair closed his eyes, spent. He gripped Jim's wrists and squeezed. "I'm, like, so tired, man."

"You've definitely earned a few hours of rest," Jim answered.

The room was dark, save the single candle that burned on the coffee table and the flicker from the fireplace. The rain no longer pounded the shingles with intensity. The lightning and thunder no longer rumbled above them. The storm had passed.

Jim was just about to help Blair up when a booted foot crashed the front door open to slam against the wall.

"Military Police! United States Army! Every person in the house is under arrest!" shouted the lead man, dressed in black from his helmet to his boots.

They swarmed into the room. Jim reacted without thinking, his nerves still raw. Boiling up from the floor, he batted aside the arm that reached for him. "I'm a cop! Damn it!"

"ON THE FLOOR! NOW!" bellowed the one who had spoken earlier.

Strong hands grabbed his arms. A hard sweep from a boot knocked Jim's feet out from underneath him. He fell to his knees and they slammed him face first into the rug. He could see Buck already on his knees, his fingers laced behind his head. More dark shapes entered the room from the kitchen.

"Rest of the house secure, sir!"

Where was Blair?

"No!" Blair yelled. "Get off me!"

"DOWN!" a stranger shouted.

Jim twisted until he could see his roommate. Two military police had him by the arms. Blair was kicking out, doing some damage. "Sandburg, no!"

A third man caught Blair's sock covered foot. He twisted hard. Blair cried out in pain and the three men slammed him down. The floor shook.

The lethal tip of a nine millimeter Beretta pressed against Jim's head.

"James Ellison, you're under arrest for first degree murder."

Where as Dry Falls had picturesque canyons with reddish brown cliffs and sapphire blue lakes, the United States Army Yakima Firing Center had nothing, just lots of brown hills and a small complex, complete with holding cells.

Jim walked across the dry, dusty ground with two armed guards on each side. Still wearing the same clothes he had been arrested in last night, he was dirty, hungry and tired. It was not even six in the morning. The vapor lights in main compound hid the stars. Jim glanced to his left, then right. The place was filled with heartbeats. Where were Buck and Blair? They'd been transported in separate vehicles from Buck's home and kept apart since leaving the orchard.

Jim was escorted into a larger building, walked down a corridor with reinforced wire-glass windows. They led him into a large room with desks and filing cabinets.

"Remove his cuffs."

For the first time since his arrest, Jim started to relax. "Packert."

"Captain Packert," corrected the man wearing a military uniform for the Criminal Investigation Division.

"Captain," Jim acknowledged as the cuffs were removed. "Where're my friends? Why the SWAT treatment?"

Packert was a head shorter than Jim, but built like a freightliner, powerful and square. Five years Jim's senior, he had gray around the temples and no indication he'd ever have to worry about a receding hairline. "I just flew in. Had I been in charge we could have called first. Sit." He nodded to the chair in front of his desk and picked up a file.

"They said I'm charged with murder."

"You tampered with evidence. You left before we could interview you. Your prints were found at the scene." Packert flipped a photograph out of the file to land on the desk facing Jim.

The severed head. Lanfers had been out of the military, but still technically a military prisoner awaiting the army's sentencing. Jim sat down. "I didn't kill him."

"I figured." Packert grimaced. "You know, when they said Lanfers escaped, I just knew you and your college buddy were involved somehow."

Packert had been the Army's investigating officer into Doctor Durkin's criminal activity at the Veteran's Administration Hospital. Then, when Durkin had shown up again with Lanfers in the Olympic Mountains, Packert had been flown out to investigate.

Jim shrugged. "Are you having Sandburg and Stevens brought here too?"

Before Packert could answer, a military police sergeant stormed into the room. Jim recognized him from the last night's raid. "What the hell is going on here?" The sergeant saw the insignia on Packert's collar. "Sir!"

"I'm interviewing your prisoner, Sergeant Miller," Packert replied calmly. "I'd like the other two brought as well. I'm taking over this investigation."

"On whose authority?" the sergeant demanded, jamming his fists onto his hips.

Packert raised an eyebrow.

The sergeant switched to stand at full attention, but held the expression of a man eating a plateful of worms.

Jim enjoyed the show. His cheek still smarted from being slam dunked into the rug.

Packert was explaining the situation. "General Lemongrass made it clear these men were being sought after in the investigation of Robert Lanfers' murder. They are witnesses, not suspects."

"They resisted arrest."

"You stormed their home."

"This one is known to own weapons."

"I'm a cop, for god's sake!" Jim exploded, unable to remain silent. "Ex-Ranger, Captain of the same armed forces that you serve in."

Miller never relaxed his pose. He kept his eyes on Packert. "I was not aware you were en route, Sir. I would have waited, had I known."

"Understood." Packert flipped the file closed. "Bring in the other two, please."

For the first time, Miller looked uncomfortable. "I can bring you Mr. Stevens."

Jim rose slowly. "What does that mean?"

"Ellison." Packert held out a warning hand.

But Jim was already listening with every sentinel fiber in his body. He could hear men talking, radios playing, a telephone ringing. Outside, he could hear the snapping of the yard lights, the crunch of boots on gravel, a truck motor running.

*"Wait a second, man. Hold on. Where's Jim? Jim Ellison. Why isn't he coming?"*

*"Get in the truck."*

*"What about Buck Stevens?"*

Jim turned to Packert. "They're moving him!" He turned on Miller. "Where are you taking Sandburg?"

Packert frowned, standing up. "Report, sergeant."

"The team from the FBI arrived. They had proper papers to transfer the prisoner," Miller answered, as though he was the only man in the room with a functioning brain. "It's legit... sir."

Jim slammed a hand on the desk. "Like hell it is!"

Packert grabbed a nearby phone. "No one from the FBI was scheduled to pick up anyone." He hit three numbers. "This is Captain Packert. Seal the gates!" He slammed the phone down and waved at the two guards that had escorted Jim. "You're both with me. I want those Feds."

"I'm coming," Jim said.

"Stay close," Packert ordered. "I don't want you shot."

Blair pulled back. The shorter guy in the team grabbed his ponytail, jerking roughly. "Hey!"

"Get in the damn truck."

Okay, this was bad. When Blair first learned the FBI had arrived, he'd felt somewhat relieved. The Army scared him, but the FBI were just cops, like Jim and Simon, only with nicer suits. So he figured it was a step up in a bad situation. But he couldn't understand why Jim and Buck weren't coming. And now this guy was acting very un-FBI-like.

"Not the hair, man," Blair snapped, peeved.

The taller guy was opening the back door. It wasn't really a truck. It was a silver Chevy SUV. Blair didn't get time to admire the model as they pushed him into the back seat and slammed the door. His arms were cuffed behind his back and it made sitting uncomfortable. Just as they got in and pulled away, Blair heard shouting from somewhere close.

Men were running toward them. The Chevy driver floored the accelerator, tossing Blair back onto the seat. No one had buckled him in. "Hey! Watch it. Could someone loose the cuffs?"

"Shut up," the short one said.

They were nearing the front gate, already doing over thirty miles an hour. They weren't slowing down. "What are you doing? Stop!"

Two soldiers took position on either side of the road. They kneeled in the dirt and brought very scary looking guns to their shoulder, pointing at the approaching Chevy.

"Shit!" Blair dropped to the floorboards as glass fragments showered down from above.

The Chevy slewed sideways, crashing through the gate and snapping it from its fasteners. Incredibly, the driver was still in control, the vehicle could still run.

Blair shook squares of safety glass off his face. Inching backwards until his head pressed against the side wall, he sat up. Bracing his body against the front and back seat, he pulled his legs up, got his feet under him and rose up until his hands could reach the door handle. The FBI guys were talking to each other. One sounded like he was talking into a radio or a phone. The Chevy slowed, skidded and banked hard left. It was gaining speed again. It was now or never.

Blair yanked the handle. The door flew open. Blair pushed hard with his legs, catapulting himself backwards into the predawn darkness.

"How far till they hit paved road?" Jim asked.

"Twenty miles," Packert answered. He held a radio mike in his hand and a topographical map spread out on his knees.

Two other military jeeps were in pursuit. Jim couldn't see how the fake Feds thought they could get away. The road ahead angled around a mound of windblown dunes. As he watched, the Chevy's brake lights came on as the tires hit a soft, sandy patch. All four wheels slid, the SUV turned left, found traction and accelerated.

A dark form fell away, rolling down the sand dune.

"STOP!" Jim yelled.

"What?" Packert answered. "Why?"

The driver made no attempt to slow down. They tore by the dune. Due to the angle of the sandy knoll, Jim couldn't see where his guide had landed.

"Sandburg jumped!" Jim hollered. "Stop the damn jeep!"

"Alpha one is breaking off. Alpha two, you have command," Packert ordered. He jerked a thumb at the corporal driving. "Go back."

"Yessir."

The jeep whipped around in a tight three-eighty. Jim had the door open before they came to a stop. He jumped, running for the spot he'd seen Blair hit and roll. He could hear Packert following. The dune dropped toward a ravine between the sand and the sagebrush dotted neighboring hill.

"Sandburg!" Fear pierced his chest. Had he imagined this? Where was Blair? Jim began to doubt himself. No, that was where Blair had rolled. The momentum must have shot him down the slope.

Jim searched the terrain, cranking up his hearing. He saw the dirt covered shape the same instant he heard the heartbeat. Blair had rolled off the sand and into a cache of tumbleweed. Sliding on the loose sand, Jim reached the edge of the dune and ran to where Blair lay, curled into a loose ball, his arms still pulled behind his back.

"Handcuff keys!" Jim shouted over his shoulder at Packert as he grabbed the prickly bushes with bare hands and tossed them aside.

The Captain stopped, frowning, then turned to run back toward the jeep.

Jim knelt and brushed dirt-dusted hair out of Blair's scratched face. "Blair?"

"Hmm?"

"Can you open your eyes?"

"Am I dead?" Blair asked as he obeyed.

"I don't think so." Jim smiled. Pupils were equal. "Nice jump. Next time pack a `chute."

Blair straightened his legs, face twisting in pain. He groaned. "Oh, man."

"Where?" Jim ran hands down his friend's spine. "Try not to move."

"My arm." Blair sucked in his breath when Jim checked his left forearm. "Ouch."

"You've got a nice little break there, Chief." Jim prayed that was the only injury the doctors would find. "We'll get you fixed up pronto."

"So, those two weren't really Feds, were they, man?" Blair asked weakly.

"If they weren't federal agents, then who were they?" Buck Stevens asked.

"I was hoping the three of you might shed some light on that," Captain Packert answered. He looked at Blair. "How's the arm, son?"

The four of them had the small mess hall to themselves. Blair's arm had been X-rayed and sported a fresh, white cast. Getting a late breakfast had been the next order of business and the US Army was treating.

"It's okay," Blair answered, picking halfheartedly at his scrambled eggs, his face shiny with antibiotics to treat the numerous scratches earned by cartwheeling through a desert. "I can't believe they got away."

Packert pushed his empty plate away in disgust. "A damn helicopter. Who would have thought they had a helicopter waiting for them."

"Can't you track them with radar?" Buck asked.

"The pilot was good. He stayed in the canyons and coolies. This area is riddled with them," Jim answered for the Captain. He had been in the operations center with Packert while Buck had stayed with Blair in the small, but thoroughly equipped medical building. "Anything new on the Chevy?"

"Nothing." Packert crossed his arms and leaned back. "So, what about it? What's going on?"

Jim exchanged measuring glances with Buck and Blair. How much could they tell this man? Would any of it stand alone without the knowledge of sentinels? "You already know about Lanfers."

Packert nodded, glancing at Blair, who finally had given up on any pretense of eating. "Is this tied with him?"

"Did your Intel learn much about a corporation that hired him while he was in the VA hospital?" Jim asked.

"I vaguely recall that information. He did security work for them?"

"Something along those lines." Jim buttered his toast. "That company, Paraho Corporation, is part of a larger corporation that might be tied to a thirteen year-old murder in California."

"I've heard of it. How `tied' are we talking?"

"It's speculation here, we're building a lot of this on conjecture. Basically it boils down to this. Whoever killed Lanfers left his head in my home as a warning, telling us to back off." Jim set the knife down and bit into the bread, making a point not to look at Blair, but hearing the younger man shudder.

"That still doesn't explain to me why you messed with the evidence and left," Packert said.

Jim shrugged. "I'll admit I might not have been using the best judgment at the time. I felt we needed breathing room. These people were getting too close. What would help us here is a deep investigation into the company and all of its holdings."

Packert looked skeptical. He sat quietly for several long seconds, his gaze on each man in turn before speaking. "I'll do some nosing around. But you three will sit down with me and give me a full account of what happened. Understood?"

Packert personally drove them back to Dry Falls.

They had been lucky. The interviews went smoother than Jim thought possible. Knowing that Blair had been hurting and needing rest, Packert had interviewed him first. Jim had listened carefully to the interview from two rooms away and coached Buck what to say when he was taken next. By the time Jim was up, the three stories congealed perfectly, telling enough to make sense without involving any sentinel connection.

Packert knew about Lanfers and both the doctors. They told him about the note in Blair's car, the meeting Jim had with Chardonnay and the gas canister someone had tossed into Buck's truck. He had frowned when Jim relayed the part about finding Blair in the loft with head. After Jim had signed his statement, they had been released.

Now they were home. Jim paused and fingered the splintered doorframe.

"It's an easy fix," Buck told him.

Blair dropped onto the sofa. "Wake me when it's Christmas."

"No one's hungry?" Buck challenged. He stretched his spine and twisted, looking ready for a full day's work. Jim hated the guy sometimes.

Then he remembered the way Blair had rearranged his food on the plate in Yakima. He doubted three bites had gone in. "Yeah, actually. I could eat."

"Grilled cheese?" Buck suggested. "Quick and filling."

With his head back and eyes closed, Blair shrugged. "Whatever."

Sitting around the kitchen table a few minutes later, the sound of chewing was broken only by slurping of milk. The temperature inside the house had grown uncomfortable. Sleep would be difficult. Jim considered staying awake until sunset, but Buck had a better plan.

Floor fans were placed in strategic locations in the short hall and the doors. A breeze made a cooling circuit throughout the house and when Jim fell upon his mattress after washing his face and brushing his teeth, he felt sleep tug on the edges of his contemplations.

What were they going to do about Paraho? How long could they keep the Army from learning about sentinels? Was Doctor Morton or Chardonnay going to turn into another Durkin? Maybe he should reveal what he was to Packert. Could the guy be trusted to help them or would he turn them over for the military to use in any way they saw fit? Would Blair survive a life in the military? Would he leave? Could Jim survive all this without Blair? Would the two of them...

The room was dark when Jim woke to breathless whispers.

"No no, don't lock it. Please..."

At first, Jim thought Blair had forgotten his key. It wouldn't have been the first time he had plodded down the stairs in the middle of the night to open the door. Then Jim remembered. They were in Dry Falls. He came fully awake.

Blair was talking in his sleep. Jim rolled over to study his friend's profile across the room. Deep, unhappy lines between Blair's eyes and across his brow told Jim the dream was not good. Jim sat up. Blair needed sleep, not nightmares. He crossed the room to gently shake Blair awake.

Blair woke with a gasp.

"You okay?" Jim asked.

"Jim?" Blair tried reaching out with his bad arm and hissed.

"I'll get your pain pills." Jim had left them in the kitchen. But when he went to get them, he saw Blair slip into the living room. Jim followed and watched in concern as his roommate dropped to one hand and knees to search the floor under the coffee table. "Chief?"

"It fell when they came in. I need to find it," Blair muttered.

Jim set the water glass and pills down. Perhaps he'd only thought he'd woken Blair up. Was the kid still dreaming? He flicked on a small lamp by the chair.

"What fell?"

"My time capsule," Blair answered, sweeping his hand over the rug in the darkness. "I need it."

"Here, let me." Jim leaned over and tugged on a T-shirt clad shoulder. "Sit on this chair a second and take a pill."

"I got it." Blair sat up, one-handedly hugging the tin to his chest. He obediently sat down but ignored the pill Jim held out. Greatly handicapped, he struggled with the lid before thrusting it out to Jim. "Open it."

"I will. Take this first."

They did a swap. Blair tossed the pill into his mouth and made a face while gulping water, never taking his eyes off the tin. Jim pried the lid off. "What are we looking for?"

"This." Blair sorted through the childhood junk and held up a short piece of tarnished chain with a flattened rectangle attached. "I remembered, or dreamt, or something, but here it is, so it must have happened."

Jim took the offering, turning over and recognizing it as a broken part of a man's bracelet. "Where'd you get it?"

"I think. D-dupont." Blair pushed his hair back from his face. "I don't know where we were. It was after he... after the shooting, we drove. I remember being in his car. He took us to a house. I got to use the bathroom and he shoved me into a..." Blair closed his eyes and swallowed, the memory obviously hard. "... cellar or something. I fought him and this came off."

"How'd it end up in your time capsule?" Jim glanced down at the partial bracelet again, seeing something inscribed on the flat part. It was too tarnished to read.

"I'm not sure. I just remember noticing it the following summer in my room here. I tossed it into the tin for filler." Blair nervously fingered the edge of his cast. "God, I remember now, Jim. I was in the cellar for so long, man. I stunk. My hair was sticky with blood and s-stuff," he whispered toward the end of his memory, his unfocused gaze on the dark landscape outside the window. "I remember."

"You did good, Sandburg." Jim patted his knee.

"Do you realize it's two AM?" Buck groused. Standing in his boxers and a T-shirt, he yawned widely. "What's up? Other than both of you."

"Blair's starting to remember more," Jim explained.

Buck turned back toward the kitchen. "I'll make coffee."

Buck had a tube of metal cleaner. Blair watched as Jim scrubbed the bracelet. His dream had been terrifying, but sitting in the bright kitchen surrounded by the solidness of friends, it didn't seem so bad. As more of the missing pieces found their way into his mind, Blair could look back at the episode with Dupont and not break into a cold sweat. Why had his mind shut off those memories for so long? Blair blinked. Jim's hands were growing blurry again. He wished he had not taken the pain pill. He was falling asleep again.

"Try again, Jim," Blair prodded.

The tarnish was thick. The metal in the bracelet might have been silver, but it was such a poor quality that age had pitted the surface.

Jim held it close and tilted it sideways. After staring intently for a second or more, he closed his eyes and brushed the surface with his fingertips. "I can make out a few letters. A `J' for sure." Jim frowned. "I think we have a name. Might be Jill. I can feel one `L'. The last name is short: Hook or Hood? I'm not sure."

"A girlfriend?" Buck asked as he set a pan of hot baking soda biscuits down on the table with a bowl of mixed butter and honey.

"I don't think he was with Naomi's friends long enough to start a relationship that would have included jewelry like that," Blair said. "Thanks, Uncle Buck." Blair spooned honey onto the split biscuit the older man had served him. He watched the sweet mixture melt into the porous bread. His mouth watered in anticipation.

"I'll get Jack on it." Jim pushed away from the table. "Don't eat all the biscuits, Sandburg."

"You're calling him now?" Blair asked with his mouth full. He swallowed. "It's three in the morning."

"I'll promise to buy ten copies of his next book," Jim quipped.

Buck rapped the table with his knuckles. "That Jack Kelso. I thought I recognized the name."

"I work with him back at Rainier. He helped Jim and me out on a case." Blair yawned. "I need more coffee."

"It won't help. I made decaf," Buck said, holding the bracelet up and turning it this way and that. He frowned. "I don't see how Jim can see any of the words."

"Jim's abilities are getting better and better. He's amazing." Blair reached for another golden treat. No matter how he tried to make biscuits in the loft, he couldn't make them like Buck could. One handedly splitting it open, he awkwardly spooned more honey out of the bowl. "If Jim's right about Dupont being a sentinel, I wonder if he's as good is Jim now."

"How good was he when you were twelve?" Buck asked.

Chewing thoughtfully, Blair thought about that. "His vision for sure. His sense of smell, too, I remember that."

A silver flash of danger caused him to jerk. A knife. Blair closed his eyes and gripped the edge of the table. Blinding light after all the darkness, light flashing on the long blade of a knife swinging toward his head. An open palm smacking him in the mouth. Pain spreading, blood dripping from his nose; sharp, shooting pain as a fist jerked him back up from the floor by the hair. The knife slashing through his curls.

"Blair?" Buck waved a hand in front of Blair's face. "You okay, runt?"

A chill chased the shivers up and down his spine. Blair rubbed his temple. "There's more."

Jim dropped the phone back into its holder. He'd been monitoring the conversation in the kitchen while taking to Jack. He wanted to get back in there.

"Sandburg?" Jim knelt next to Blair's chair. Buck stood by his chair, a hand on his shoulder.

"He cut my hair." Blair's eyes were haunted. He looked so damn young. "There were two other men. They were mad. Dupont had a knife. They wanted him to kill me. He wanted to bring me with him. They argued a long time. Oh, god. I've changed my mind. I don't want to remember anymore." Blair paused to gulp air.

Jim caught Blair's hands between his own. "Easy, buddy. You can do this. Keep trying, what did the others look like?"

Blair closed his eyes. Shivers wracked his frame. "Right, right. Okay. Ah, one was older, with a beard, I think. He wore a suit. The other guy was big, strong like a weight lifter, real creepy eyes. That's all, man. That's all. He cut my hair. Just my hair, man."

Jim nodded. "The smell probably got to him. It was dirty, remember?"

Blair shuddered. "Right."

"How'd you get away, Chief?"

"I didn't," Blair said, "the last time he locked me up. I was so thirsty. It seemed like forever." Blair clenched his hands into twin fists and took a deep breath. "Then I dreamed Naomi was with me. I woke up here with Buck. I don't know how." He looked up at Buck.

"You were pretty out of it," Buck said with a frown looking angry and concerned at the same time.

"That's all I remember."

"You did great, Chief." Jim squeezed his knee as he stood.

Blair didn't look convinced.

"Come on." Jim gently tugged his partner to his feet. "You could use more shut eye."

Back in the room, Blair cleared his throat and caught Jim's arm. "Please," he whispered.

"What?" Jim turned on the lamp by the bed. "What's wrong?"

The soft light through the shade gave Blair's face long shadows, but sentinel vision could see the fear in the blue irises. Blair's grip was fierce.

"I... it's just that..." Blair's eyes darted to the dark corners of the room. "You're tired too, right?"

Jim nodded, pained by Blair's fear. "Yeah. I'm gonna sleep too. I'll try and keep my snores to a minimum."

The call from Kelso came around midday. Blair was still sleeping.

"I think I found her, Jim," Kelso said. "Dupont had a fianc by the name of Julie Hood. They had dated while in college. She called off the wedding and moved to Oregon a year before the break in at Diablo."

"Julie, not Jill," Jim commented. "Close enough. Is she still in Oregon?"

"Yeah, a small town called Warm Springs. It's on an Indian reservation. She's a social worker." Jack rustled some paper. "Do you want her phone number? I've got her address too."

"Hold on." Jim reached over to pull out a pad of paper and a pen from under the side table next to the chair. He was alone in the living room. Buck had gone out to the orchard to install his newly repaired pump. "I'll pay you for your time."

"You will not," Jack huffed. "Blair saved my life."

Jim copied the information. It would take him less than half a day to drive down to Warm Springs. He wondered if he should call Packert and let him know about their new lead. "Thanks again, Jack."

After the ex-CIA agent hung up, Jim went to check on Blair. The guest room's heavy curtains were drawn, cutting off the bright sunshine. With a floor fan quietly kicking up a breeze Blair had burrowed under two blankets. The house was warmer now. Blair looked too hot so Jim carefully removed the top cover.

Not carefully enough.

"Jim?" Blair rolled over, clumsy with his cast.

"Sorry, didn't mean to wake you. How do you feel?"

Pushing off the mattress with his good arm, Blair smiled ruefully. "Stupid. Sorry for freaking out last night."

"You didn't freak out," Jim told him. "Besides, you remembered quite a bit of useful information."

"Yeah?" Climbing to his feet, Blair dragged a palm down his face before squinting at the small clock on the bed stand. "Wow, it's almost noon. All I do is sleep lately." He touched his messy hair. He looked at his broken arm, then at Jim. "Ahhh..."

"I'll get tape and a plastic bag."

"Thanks, dude." Blair sniffed and pulled a face. "I really need a shower."

"No argument from me."

When Buck returned from his drive to the orchard, Blair was clean and dressed. Lunch was ready. Jim had found bread in the freezer. Using canned chicken and limp celery and adding a tomato in its last days, he'd thrown together some chicken salad sandwiches. He and Blair were discussing Jim's plan to drive to Oregon by himself. Blair was not happy about it.

"Blair, I'll be back in the morning," Jim repeated, hoping this time, with Buck present to back him up, Blair would concede.

"You're not going by yourself." Blair smacked the tabletop with his palm. "I'm going or Uncle Buck will go."

"You're not staying here alone," Jim pointed out.

"Then we all go," Buck ruled.

Jim sighed. This man had already done so much for them. "What about your work?"

Pouring his coffee, Buck looked around the kitchen. "It'll still be waiting for me."

Blair rocked forward on his toes, a habit practiced whenever he won an argument. "See, man? Told you I was right."

"Butthead."

"Beavis," Blair answered with a smirk.

Sitting three across in front of Buck's Chevy did not leave much elbow room, yet Blair preferred the close proximity of his friends. The drive to Oregon was uneventful, each man keeping his thoughts to himself. The wind raged through White Salmon at the Columbia River and, even though it was a weekday, the wind surfers raced over the white caps.

"I always wanted to try that," Blair said somewhat wistfully. They looked so free. Some days he wished he had time for stuff like that.

"I'd rather fish," Buck commented, fighting the side wind to keep the truck on the road.

"I've seen a few try back in Cascade," Jim added. "Some days are windy enough. I'd never attempt it without a wet suit, though."

"That's a given." Blair turned in his seat to watch one particularly curvy windsurfer catch some air. "Wow, she's good. I vote her as my teacher."

Jim tugged a long curl. "You'd never pay attention."

"I would, man, eventually," Blair answered, knowing Jim was probably correct.

"At least a dunk in the cold water would keep you on track." Jim reached behind the seat for the small ice chest they had packed. "Who's ready for a coke?"

They reached Warm Springs around five and found a small caf for dinner. Jim pulled out the paper with the address and compared it to a city map the tribe gave away along with other fishing and hunting brochures by the cash register. Blair let the other two orient themselves. He was content to study the brownish-red, pine dotted hillsides and cliffs. The town was small. A two-lane highway bisected the middle. The center of town held a grocery store, a Baptist church, a community hall, the caf they were sitting at and a decent looking museum.

"What will you have?" a middle aged woman wearing jeans and a T-shirt under her blue apron asked. She had a friendly smile and a round body.

"I'll have the burger special," Jim said.

"Jiim," Blair said, frowning.

"What? I didn't ask for the bacon cheeseburger," Jim argued.

"I'll have the Denver omelet." Buck glanced at Blair before added quickly, "With the egg beaters."

"Et tu, Buckus?" Jim splayed a hand over his heart.

Rolling his eyes, Blair ordered an open face turkey and soup. When the waitress brought their food, Jim tapped the map. "Do you know if Julie Hood still lives on Pinecrest Street?"

She nodded her head, sending her chins swinging. "Sure, honey. Julie ain't lived anywhere but on Pinecrest since I've know her. You guys visiting?"

Jim nodded. "Do you know if she'd mind us coming by after dinner?"

"Want me to ask her?" the waitress asked, her hands on her hips. "I know her number."

Jim looked thoughtful. "Yeah, I think that would be a good idea." He pulled out his wallet and showed her his detective shield. "Let her know that I'm with the police. I just want to ask her some questions about someone she knew."

"Cascade, Washington," she read from Jim's badge and ID, her double chins jiggling. "Okay, I'll let you know what she says."

After the waitress had left them, Blair leaned forward and whispered. "You sure that's a good idea?"

Building his hamburger carefully with lettuce, onions, pickles and two slices of tomato, Jim shrugged. "She can't possibly know why we're here. This way, she had a few minutes to prepare for visitors. Might make her more willing to talk. Folks are funny when you knock on their door unannounced."

Buck nodded at the parking lot through the large picture window. "Judging by all the gun racks in those trucks, I'd hazard to say it's not a good idea, period."

Dinner finished, they returned to the Chevy to find Julie Hood's address. The waitress had told them she was home and willing to talk to them. Jim pointed out the turns for Buck to take until the were outside the small town's city limits and following a lazy river, bordered by towering trees with young, tender leaves.

"She likes her solitude," Blair said. They hadn't seen a house for several minutes.

"There. That has to be hers." Jim folded up the map and stuffed it into the door's pocket.

"Any idea what we're going to say to her?" Blair asked.

"We're only asking her about Dupont. Nothing more," Jim said.

Buck parked on the shoulder of the road. A meandering stone path with steps led to the front door of a small cabin. The woman's yard held no lawn or landscaped shrubs, only two pine trees and wherever the ridge behind her house dumped large boulders. A large dog bounded around the corner of the house, barking and showing teeth.

Blair held out his good arm. "It's okay, fella."

The dog skidded to a halt ten feet away, front legs braced for a fight, if given reason.

The weathered front door opened and a woman stepped out. "Van Gough! Down!"

The dog lay down obediently, but did not take his eyes off the newcomers.

"Sorry about that." She was average height and wore lightweight sweatpants and a tank top with a `Warm Spring Cares' logo. Her dark brown hair had been rolled into a messy bun. Her face had a bright smear of orange that decorated one cheek. "You're the guys from Washington? The cops?"

Jim nodded, holding out his leather badge case. "Jim Ellison. This is my partner, Blair Sandburg and our friend, Buck Stevens. We'd like to talk to you about Paul Dupont."

She stepped back. "Come in."

Blair looked around the small living room and liked the woman instantly. Books spilled out from the many bookcases. Amateur artwork hung, frameless, on her walls. A large window captured a peaceful view of the river below her house. Wooden easels and stools were scattered about. There were none of the regular chairs or sofas a person would expect to find in a living room.

"Come into the kitchen," she invited.

The back kitchen was a few square feet larger than the living room, but more orderly. More paintings hung on the walls. Blair noticed one of a crouching cougar. Something about the large cat reminded him of Jim. Was it the way the animal seemed focused on his task or the painter's ability to capture the balance of instinct and strength? Whatever it was, Blair liked it.

"You teach?" Jim asked as he followed, nodding toward the pictures.

"Yes, some of the kids here have great talent. Most just like to cover the canvas with oil. My better students even have paintings in the museum. We did a mural for one of the exhibits that won an award. Coffee?" She went to a battered looking pot. The carafe handle was covered with paint.

"Thank you," Jim answered for the three of them.

"Have a seat." She waved a hand at the kitchen table and opened a cupboard. She set four mismatched mugs on the countertop. "Why are you asking about Paul?"

"I'm not at liberty to say much about the case. We're investigating an old case out of Northern California," Jim answered casually.

She served the coffee and set a pint of coffee creamer and a sugar bowl on the table with three spoons before taking the fourth seat. Blair studied her face, on the off chance she had been with the protest group and he would recognize her.

Her skin was darkened by the sun. She wore no makeup that he could see. Her hands were large and knobby at the knuckles, weathered looking. Her fingernails were short and stubby. She looked fit and strong, yet he could see the beginning of a fat roll around her waist.

"Paul was my first mistake," she admitted with a sobering expression. "I thought I was in love. He had money. Well, at least his family had money."

"Where did you meet him?" Jim asked.

"We both lived in Ohio. Went to high school together." Julie took the creamer and added enough to lighten the brew in her cup. "Paul was the typical guy that all the girls wanted to date. Handsome, athletic, best at everything, good grades."

Blair could hear a `but' in there somewhere. He wasn't disappointed.

"But he was a major jerk." She brushed her face with a hand and found the dried paint. He fingers absentmindedly picked at the flakes. "He had a mean streak as wide as that river out there. I didn't see it at first. Everyone liked him. He got a big write up in the newspaper the summer before we split. A little girl got lost and Paul found her in the woods, saved her life. She'd wandered off from her family while they were picnicking and ended up breaking her leg. He heard her crying. The whole town praised him."

"When did you see or hear of him last?" Jim asked.

She shook her head. "Not since I broke off our engagement."

"How'd he take that?"

She shrugged. "I'd like to say he was heartbroken." She chuckled and leaned back in her chair. "But I'd be fooling myself. After he rescued that little girl, he got a really swelled head. Some big company even came and interviewed him. Gave him a college scholarship and a job when he graduated. He was amazing, really. Very focused when it suited him. Even before the rescue, the neighborhood kids used to tease him and call him `that boy from Smallville'."

"Why?" Blair asked.

She tossed her hand in the air. "You know kids, we were just having fun. When Paul was younger, he used to claim he could see through walls and stuff. He did have a way of always knowing stuff. You couldn't keep a secret around him, that's for sure."

She stood up and went to a kitchen drawer to rummage within. "Thinking back, it was all that special attention that probably made him the jerk he is." She sighed and took out a photograph, bringing it over to hand to Jim. "Don't get me wrong, he had his good moments. We used to walk to the lake, just sit and talk." She blushed. "We taught each other to kiss."

Jim looked at the picture before passing it to Blair.

The monster and a much younger version of Julie stood arm in arm, laughing at the camera. Blair felt like throwing up.

For the drive back to Dry Falls, Jim and Buck had switched places. Jim drove while Buck dozed against the door. Clouds had glided in during the evening and the heavens were starless. They were twenty miles north of Goldendale and wouldn't see another town for hours.

"He still gets to you, doesn't he?" Jim said.

Oh, man. Blair wanted to deny it, to lie to Jim and tell him everything was good. He couldn't. "Yeah."

"It's going to get easier, Sandburg."

"I hope so, man." Blair shook his head.

"You know, it's funny," Jim said softly, "I used to hate my old man for the way he made me feel when I first starting noticing my abilities."

"Yeah?" Blair studied Jim's profile by the light of the dashboard.

"Now, I wonder." Jim shifted self-consciously. "I wonder, would I have turned into someone like Dupont if things had been different?"

"No, never, man." Blair butted his shoulder against Jim's. "Not you. Something tells me Dupont was an asshole even before."

Jim's reply was cut off as they rounded a sharp corner to find it blocked by a large panel truck. "Crap!" Jim stomped the brake. Buck woke with a snort. The truck skidded sideways, toward the shoulder. Jim slung one arm out, catching Blair in the chest and pinning him to the seat.

Sitting in the middle, Blair couldn't brace himself. The truck slewed him sideways to bounce against Jim. His hair covered his eyes. He heard the tires skidding in the gravel as they bounced over the rough terrain alongside the road.

Finally, the Chevy stopped.

Both doors flew open. Blair, still half across Jim, struggled to sit up and shoved his hair off his face.

Med in dark clothes surrounded them, black paint on their face and carrying machine guns.

"Keep your hands up!" the lead man shouted.

Buck kept his hands up. "Easy, fellas. No one's gonna try anything."

"Shut up!" the leader shouted. "Get out of the truck."

Sitting in the middle, Blair had a brief second of indecision as which way to slide. Jim tugged him along. The outside air was cool and he shivered. The gunmen pushed them toward the side of the truck and performed a thorough search. Jim's gun was taken, along with his ID. They took Blair's wallet from his back pocket.

Something told Blair this was not a simple robbery.

"Five!" one of the men shouted, looking at his wrist.

"This is the one we want," the leader said, pointing his gun at Jim. "Kill the other two."

"Hold it!" Blair said, panicked. "You don't want to-"

The butt of a gun smashed into his side, stealing his ability to talk. Blair fell to his knees with a grunt. Bodies scuffled around him and he knew Jim was fighting them. There were too many guns. Jim needed help. Before he could rise to his feet and help, a hard blow between his shoulder blades knocked him to the ground. Sharp gravel bit into his palms, pain blossomed in his broken arm.

The sharp report of gunfire ended the fight and a heavy body fell across Blair's back.

"No!" Blair struggled to roll over. He felt the weight lift and turned to see the lifeless form of his sentinel hanging between two of the gunmen. "Jim! You shot him?"

"We don't answer questions from dead men," one of the men said with an ugly laugh. He pointed the end of his large gun at Blair's head.

Twin headlights stabbed the darkness, sweeping over the scene, and a vehicle screeched to a stop next to them. The passenger door opened. "Shoot him and I'll kill you," an authoritative voice barked angrily. "I told you I wanted him."

"Shit," the leader muttered under his breath. He reached out a hand to push away the gun pointing at Blair. "You heard him, stand down."

Blair tore his gaze away from Jim to identify his rescuer. He couldn't see the face, only the large, nearly obese form backlit by the headlights. Another, slimmer figure, got out of the car to stand at the big man's side. Blair caught a glimpse of long dreadlocks framing the driver's face.

"What do you thugs want?" Buck's voice asked from the other side of the Chevy.

Blair rolled to his knees to stand awkwardly, his good arm bracing his sore ribs. He couldn't see any blood on Jim. Where had he been shot? No one stopped him as he stepped close. Jim's head hung forward. Blair touched his chest. He was breathing.

"Eight!" a voice called out urgently.

They were timing this, Blair realized.

Sausage-sized fingers grabbed his upper arm and jerked him sideways. "It's nice to see you, Blair."

Blair reared back in horror. His stomach rolled as a multitude of centipedes crawled over his body.

His rescuer was Paul Dupont.

The leader of the armed group jerked a thumb at Jim. "We're on a timed schedule, sir."

Dupont nodded, "Get on with it. I have what I wanted. Deliver the other one to Morton."

"What about the old guy?" the leader asked, pointing his gun over where Buck was being held.

Dupont tugged Blair toward the large car. "Kill him."

"Wait!" Blair dug in his heels, jerking to free his arm. "Hold it, man. You can't do that," he shouted. He could see two of the men push Buck. They were taking him off the road, out into the dark desert landscape.

"Count yourself lucky you're not joining him," Dupont insisted with a cruel laugh. "Here, help me with him," he ordered his driver.

Blair twisted free and darted away from both of them, only to smack into two more of the armed men from the paneled truck. As they held him fast, binding his arms together in front with long nylon ties, Blair could see Jim being dragged toward the truck. Buck and his executioners had left the lighted area by the vehicles.

"No!" Blair screamed as they tugged him back toward Dupont's car. "Don't do this, Dupont! Please, man!"

Dupont ignored him, giving orders to the armed men as Blair got stuffed into the back seat. "Take that one a ways off before you do him. I don't want his body found."

The leader looked irritated. "My men are behind schedule already."

"Then use your head, stupid," Dupont snapped. "Split up. You take Ellison now, the others can follow in this Chevy. We need to dump it anyway."

"What about that one?" The leader nodded at Blair.

"He's not your problem. He belongs to me now." Dupont walked to the open door. "I'll meet you back at base."

Blair's bound arms had been secured by another tie to the metal bracket securing the shoulder harness to the car's interior, which kept his arms pulled up and over his left shoulder. He felt the car sink on the shocks as Dupont sat down next to him with a grateful sigh. The driver got in and closed the door. The driver turned his head. "Back to the base, boss?"

"Yeah, Blair and I have some catching up to do," Dupont said cheerfully.

"Listen," Blair begged. "Please don't hurt Buck. Just let him go. He can't hurt you. He doesn't know anything."

"It's already a done deal," the large man chortled. "Sit back and enjoy the ride. Ellison won't be so comfortable."

The car cut a sharp circle around the truck. Blair caught a brief picture of Buck with his two escorts walking out into the desert before the headlights moved on. Grief swamped him. He jerked hard on the ties around his wrists and kicked the back of the driver's seat. "Stop!"

"Hey!" the driver said.

Dupont's fist caught Blair in the face. As the shock of the unexpected blow faded, he was left feeling stunned as blood flowed down his lips and dripped off his chin.

God, he hated being drugged.

Jim groaned. His head throbbed. It felt like a spear had been driven into his shoulder blade. The last thing he remembered was Blair getting hit and a fight and then someone shot him.

A tranquilizer dart.

His wrists were bound together in front and looped somehow to his own belt. He had woken to find himself curled on his side, lying on the hard, creased floor of a moving truck. The same one that had blocked the road? Probably. How long had he been unconscious? How far could the truck have traveled? He kept still. The inside of the truck was dimly lit. He could see several pairs of booted feet. No one was talking. He counted the heartbeats and none belonged to Blair.

Jim's chest ached with uncertainty. He'd heard the order given to kill Blair and Buck. Had they done it? He knew one thing for sure, if Blair had been killed, Jim wouldn't take prisoners.

The truck slowed and turned. Rolling to a stop, the back doors opened. Pale dawn light entered. The air was thin, similar to high altitude. The men rose to their feet and jumped down. Hands reached back in and dragged Jim across the floor. They let him drop to the hard dirt. He landed hard on his shoulder and back. The shock of the fall caused him to grunt and open his eyes.

"Awake, ain't cha?" the leader said with a sneer. "Had a feeling you was faking it."

"Sinclair!" bellowed a familiar voice. "I didn't send you out to bring back the objective so you could drop him on his head, you shit-for-brains!"

"No, sir!" The leader snapped to attention and stepped back.

Sergeant Miller walked up to the group. "Take him to the infirmary. I want him checked out."

Jim gawked in disbelief. This was a military operation? Where was Packert? How the hell could this have happened? "Where's Sandburg?" Jim demanded as they lifted him to his feet.

Miller shot him a scorn-filled look of hate as he spoke to Sinclair, "Morton is waiting for him. I want a full report when you're done."

"Sir, Dupont was-" the leader started.

"I know! He's already called. Do what I said." He turned away, his long stride taking him in the direction of a large metal hangar-style building, similar to those found on airfields.

Jim took in his surroundings. They were in the mountains, surrounded on all four sides by heavy timbered slopes. It didn't look like the Cascades. Had they gone east toward Idaho? Could be. The trees were more pine than fir and cedar. The buildings around them all looked like military hand me downs. Cheaply build metal warehouses and long Quonset hut buildings with the standard arch roofs. He saw sections of high chainlinked fencing, topped with rows of barbed wire. The compound looked well protected. The distant drone of a large diesel generator told him they were well off the power grid.

They entered a warehouse through an unmarked side door. The inside had been finished with sheetrock walls and tile floors. Down a corridor and through another door led to a hospital-like setting. A man and woman were drinking coffee at a counter while looking over files.

Jim recognized Emily Chardonnay instantly. He guessed the taller man next to her was Doctor Morton.

"Ellison," Chardonnay said. "Looks like we're going to get to know each other better after all."

Morton looked at Jim like an alcoholic eyeing a bottle of whisky. "Wonderful, wonderful. Let's get started."

Blair tried to stay awake.

The car drove all night without stopping. The windows were tinted. Lights from passing towns were few. The driver must have stuck to the side roads as much as possible. He wasn't sure which direction they were going, until he saw the sunrise and knew they were heading east.

Dozing in short intervals during the drive, Blair would wake with a start to feel a hand pat his shoulder or knee. Dupont would chuckle at the reaction, when Blair pressed himself against the side of the car. He stole looks at the man. It was still Dupont under all the extra weight. Blair could see it in the man's face. The same unsettling feeling he got around Lanfers in the penitentiary hospital seemed twice as bad around this man.

Finally when Blair felt his bladder could not take another hour, the car turned off the narrow mountain road and passed through a guard station. A high metal gate closed behind them.

"It's not the Hilton, but it will do." Dupont opened his door as the vehicle rolled to a stop and heaved his heavy body out. He ducked to speak to the driver. "Clean him up and take him to my quarters."

The driver opened Blair's door. "You're not going to give me any problems, are you, man?"

Blair took his first good look at the driver. The guy was young, only a few years older than himself. His long, blond dreadlocks seemed out of place in the near military surroundings. He held up a wicked looking knife.

Blair shook his head.

"Good. Hold still." The knife made quick work of the tie that hooked his wrists to the car. "Come on."

"Who are you?" Blair asked, standing stiffly next to the car. Although his wrists were still bound, it felt good to lower his arms again. "Wait, you're the one who dropped the gas canister into the truck."

"Call me Sam." Sam took Blair by the arm. "Come on."

Blair stumbled along, catching sights of buildings and cargo containers. He saw a large, white paneled truck. Hope rose. "Did they bring Jim here?"

Sam shook his head. "Don't ask questions, Blair."

"Why not?" Blair pressed. "What is this place? Who are these people?"

"In here." Sam opened a door to a small, round, roofed building. Rows of beds lined each wall. A concrete floor and non-insulated walls made the barracks cold. Sam guided him down the middle toward the back. They went through another door that opened up to a large communal bathroom with lockers and showers. "Sit."

Blair sat on a rough wooden bench. They were alone. He struggled to speak without his teeth chattering. "Sam, you don't have to be part of this. Help us. We can talk to the authorities. You can make a deal."

Taking a small hand towel from a hook, Sam wet it in a sink and straddled the bench next to Blair. Taking his chin, he cleaned the dried blood from Blair's face. "You won't shut up, will you?"

"I get that a lot," Blair answered, flinching as the towel rubbed his swollen nose.

"Sorry." Sam dabbed the last of the blood from Blair's chin and eyed the stained shirt. "I can see about finding you some new clothes."

"I'd rather find Jim," Blair said. "Please?"

Sam tossed the blood stained towel into a large hamper with a sigh. "You'd better use the john and get some water now. I'm not sure when you'll get another chance."

Afterwards, Sam walked him to a larger, newer building. Real carpet lined the floor. It was warmer. He opened the first door down a hallway and Blair shivered as a creepy feeling hit. Sam gently guided him forward when he balked at the open doorway.

"There you are," Dupont said. He sat at a small table, eating his breakfast. "Much better," he added, seeing Blair's clean face and borrowed grey sweatshirt. "Behave and I won't have to hit you again."

"Why don't you just have a massive heart attack and do us both a favor?" Blair fired back. He heard Sam's quick intake of breath.

Dupont raised a heavy eyebrow. "How'd you like the other arm broken, Blair?"

Blair shut up.

"Chain him to the pipe." The fat man pointed a fork at the water pipe protruding from a wall in the kitchen area.

Sam followed orders, urging Blair to sit down first, before linking a cable through his bound wrists and around the pipe. "Don't piss him off," Sam whispered sternly as he snapped the padlock in place.

"Yeah, kid," Dupont added. "I may want you around, but not all your parts have to be in working order."

Sam stood and looked at Dupont, obviously waiting for further instructions. Dupont waved his fork toward the door they had entered by. "Go tell Miller we're back. Have the cook bring me more eggs."

"Yes, sir."

Alone with Dupont, Blair leaned a weary head against the wall and waited, his own gut in knots. Dupont ate with fervor, wiping yellow yoke from his plate with his toast and scooping forkfuls of hash brown potatoes into his mouth. He eyed Blair thoughtfully as he ate. Sam returned with another plate of eggs and left without giving Blair another look.

When the second meal was finished, Dupont pushed away from the small table. When the big man opened the only other door in the large room, Blair could see a bathroom. After a few minutes he heard the sound of flushing. Presently Dupont reentered, wearing flannel pajamas. He crossed over to the large bed against the far wall and sat down.

"I read about you."

Blair remained quiet.

"You grew up, went to college and studied about me," Dupont proclaimed proudly as he got under the covers.

A spark of anger flared within Blair. Did this guy think he was so great? His work was all about Jim. "You're nothing like what I study. A sentinel is a protector of the tribe. You're more like a parasite."

Dupont's eyes hardened. He rolled on his side, away from Blair. Something told him, had the effort to get out of the bed and cross the small studio apartment not been so great, Blair would probably have a black eye for that comment.

Maybe tomorrow, Blair didn't care. It felt good to stand up to the man, even just a little bit. He curled his knees up to his chest and tried to get comfortable. Dupont started snoring, long, jagged sounds that sounded like a dull, rasping handsaw over hardwood. Mentally, Blair added sleep apnea to the guy's long list of `most likely to die from' medical problems. The snores keep him from nodding off, even with his exhaustion.

He looked around him for a tool. There was nothing within his reach to use to cut the tie around his wrists. The right wrist was already rubbed raw. His left wrist was protected by the cast. The abrasion stung. It took his mind off his sore nose.

He rested his temple against the wall, his mind carefully blank. He didn't want to think about Jim or Buck. Was Buck still alive? What were they doing to Jim right now? He wished he wore a watch. He had no way to judge the passing of time. It felt like hours already.

The door opened and Sam slipped in. He held a finger to his lips and silently opened the lock, then cut the tie around Blair's wrist. He pulled Blair to his feet and nodded to the door.

The fledgling hope of help died in the hallway when Blair spotted the two armed men. "What's going on?"

"Shh, keep your voice down. I don't want to wake him up," Sam explained. "They told me to bring you."

"Why?" Blair asked as he walked at Sam's side, eager to expand the distance between himself and Dupont. "What's going on?"

"Come on."

They crossed the compound. The sun was high in the sky, but the blustery wind brought shivers even with the sweatshirt. Entering the protection of another large metal building, Blair spotted more armed men and an empty hospital gurney by the far wall.

"This way." Sam guided him through a door, down another hall and into what was obviously a medical treatment room.

Blair recognized Morton and Chardonnay standing next to an occupied gurney. He looked at the supine man on the bed. "JIM!"

Morton stepped back, pulling Chardonnay with him. "Watch," he whispered.

"What did you do to him?" Blair demanded, bolting to Jim's side. No one tried to stop him. Jim wasn't moving, didn't open his eyes as Blair touched his cheek. "Jim, talk to me," Blair pleaded.

He turned on the two medical personnel. "What did you do? Tell me!"

"Wake him up," Morton urged. "Like you did Lanfers. Remember?"

Oh my god. Blair clenched his fists. These idiots had purposely put Jim into a zone out. "You have no idea... what you're playing with. Jim's not a science experiment. Tell me what you did."

"C-chief."

Blair whirled around. Jim looked at him from the bed, dazed and concerned. "Jim, man, you okay? Do you hurt anywhere?"

"I'm fine... help me up." Jim tried to lift his shoulders off the thin mattress.

"That's amazing," Chardonnay whispered. "How did that happen?"

"I don't know. Dupont stays under for hours when he gets those fits." Morton flipped open a file and studied the contents. "We need vitals."

Blair ignored them as he helped Jim up. "I'd thought they shot..." Blair throat tightened.

"Good to see you, too." Jim pulled a face as he moved his shoulder. "I thought they'd killed you. Where's Buck?"

Hot tears stung Blair's eyes. "They took him... into the desert," Blair whispered, gripping Jim's upper arms. "I don't-"

Jim stiffened. "He's coming."

Blair felt it. Like thousands of fire ants tunneling through the back of his brain. Terror made him grip Jim's arms tightly.

Dupont thundered into the room. He wore a thick, plush robe and unlaced boots. "What the hell is going on?"

Amazingly, it was Sam that placed himself between the angry man and the Sentinel and Guide pair. "Now, boss. They just wanted him for a few minutes. I was going to bring him back."

"No!" Dupont shoved the younger man aside. "None of you touches him. He's mine."

With a low growl, Jim moved to get off the bed.

No, they'd kill him. Blair pushed Jim back down, frantic. "No, Jim. It's okay." Suddenly his fear of Dupont was secondary to his fear for his sentinel.

Before he could say anything more, Dupont spun him around by the hair. Blair tried to keep on his feet, but stumbled and crashed into a stool before falling against the wall. He managed to keep his cast protected against his body as he fell. He could hear Jim cursing and the guards moving in to keep peace. Panic took root. Blair hurried to stand. "I'm okay, man. I'm good. Jim! Don't fight them."

The doctor's were busy trying to sooth Dupont's fiery temper. No one was allowed to approach Blair, to help him back to his feet. Dupont was a grizzly defending what he considered his. Leaning against the wall, Blair pushed his hair back to see Sam with Jim, doing more to keep the cop from getting himself killed by the armed guards than Blair could have.

Dupont turned, shoving Blair hard toward the doorway. "Move, NOW!"

"Okay!" Blair answered, hitting the doorjamb with his shoulder as he went into the hallway. He bit back a yelp as a meaty fist snarled his hair, using it as a convenient handle to propel him along. "Chill! Chill, man. I'm going."

"If I ever wake up and you're not there again..." Dupont snarled, shaking his prisoner hard.

The sharp pain of being nearly scalped caused stars. Blair reached up with his right hand and got a hold of Dupont's thick forearm. He was rewarded with a sharp box to his right ear. "Okay! I get it; stay put. I get it," Blair answered, purposely whining, acting submissive.

"No, but you're about to," Dupont warned.

"Let me go," Jim growled at the kid holding him back. It said a lot as to how long he'd been zoned that this motorcycle punk could keep him from following. Jim's fury abated enough so he remembered the armed guards. He stopped resisting. "He's going to hurt him," Jim hissed.

"Maybe, a little," the kid with the stupid hair admitted, whispering back while briefly glancing at the two doctors. "Something tells me the dude is tough. You getting killed isn't gonna help him."

"Who the hell are you?" Jim asked, hating that the kid was right.

"I'm Sam." Sam stepped back, giving Jim space. He tilted his head, his gaze softening.

Jim suddenly realized how he must look to Blair when he listened to something far away. Hell, that meant- "You're a sentinel," Jim whispered so softly that when Sam blushed, he knew he was right.

Jim leaned back, battle-weary. "Look, can you go with him? Help him?"

"Yeah, like Dupont's gonna let me anywhere near him right now," Sam answered. "But, I'll try. Looks like you're gonna be busy for a while." Sam headed for the door.

Morton and Chardonnay hovered around a metal cart filled with medical implements to measure and record. "Please, sit. How do you feel, Mr. Ellison?" Morton asked.

"Pissed," Jim shot back, watching Sam slip out of the room. He didn't trust the guy, but he had no choice. He sat on the edge of the gurney. "What did you do to me?"

"We placed you in a trance," Chardonnay answered, lifting a stethoscope from around her neck. "We find that to be a major side effect with people of your ability. What we don't understand is why you seem so much healthier than our own voyeur."

Jim reared back. "Your what?"

"Paul Dupont, he's the company voyeur," Dr. Morton explained.

"Your company needs a sexual pervert?" Suddenly, an entirely new concern for Blair materialized.

Morton frowned. "Of course not, it also means an inquisitive person, one who watches and listens. I coined the term myself. Dupont gives us an edge. He can listen to ongoing negotiations without being found out. He can see and hear a private conversation across a football field. He can smell fear from our competitors. He's been invaluable."

"Look, I'm sure he's a super snoop for you. But what's that got to do with Blair and me?" Jim asked. "Your guy needs a shrink and maybe a workout with a fitness coach. Leave us out of your agenda."

"I tried to warn you," Emily Chardonnay purred, looking not at all sympathetic. "You chose to continue your investigation." She slipped her stethoscope under Jim's shirt, her fingers ice on his skin.

Mindful of the armed guards across the room, Jim endured her close proximity. He ground his teeth, determined to learn as much as he could. "So why is your company adding the kidnapping of a police officer to its portfolio?"

"We're interested in your ability to function this late in your life without the drawbacks Dupont is having," Morton wrapped a blood pressure cuff around Jim's left arm. "If we can prevent it from starting in our next generation..."

Sam. Jim frowned. How many did this company have?

"We recruit them young," Chardonnay offered, seeming to read Jim's thoughts. She had slipped the scope to his back. "Impressive lungs, Jim."

Drop dead, Bitch, Jim thought, hoping she would read that thought. "Your company was the one that gave Dupont the scholarship when he was a teenager."

"That's right." Morton finished taking Jim's blood pressure and dropped his own stethoscope into his lab coat pocket. He made notes on a chart. "We found Sam up in Canada about... what, now... five years ago?"

"My, time flies," Chardonnay whispered. "They grow up so fast."

Morton absentmindedly clicked his pen, staring over Jim's head. "We're missing something. Perhaps this thesis subject of Mister Sandburg's had more merit than we had first thought."

Emily withdrew her hand. She went to the chart and sorted through odd medical tools until she found an ear scope. "What, that business about tribal protectors and partners?" she snorted delicately. "Sentimentality, that's all. The dreams of a hippie."

"If that's what you think, they why try kidnapping him with fake FBI agents?" Jim demanded.

Morton rolled his eyes. "That was Dupont's plan. I'm sure it wasn't sanctioned by the boss. We're authorized only to study you."

"So why kill Lanfers?" Jim asked, desperate to learn as much as he could. "You had a guinea pig."

"Defunct would be the key word, Jim," Chardonnay said. "We got our tissue samples. Other than that, he was useless."

"So, how long before Dupont gets the same treatment?" Jim asked.

The two looked startled, glancing first at each other, than nervously at the closed door. What do you know, he'd hit a nerve.

With only one arm cuffed, Blair could reach a little further than before. The place was clean. He swept the expensive tile floor with his fingertips. The builders of this complex had certainly padded the budget when it had come to furnishing the small studio apartment. The carpet and tile floor were top of the line. The fixtures belonged in a `Street of Dream' catalog. Dupont must be worth some serious dollar signs to these jokers. Or was he the boss? Somehow Blair doubted it.

Flexing his cuffed hand, he listened to the snores rock the room. His own predicament took a back seat to his fear for Jim. That had been a medical facility. What were they doing to him? Sitting against the wall between a stainless steel and smoke glass wine cooler and a cabinet, his fingers played with the oak floorboard trimming the wall. It felt loose. Blair looked closely. It was loose. He pulled and saw the tiny head of the molding nail.

Blair glanced over at the shadowed form of Dupont on the bed. He had to get Jim out of here.

"He's fine."

Jim sat up. Sam stood next to the bars of his cage. Like an old western movie set, the builders of the complex had installed heavy security cages within the room. The floor was concrete. The ceiling, reinforced steel. No vents, no lights, no hope for escape without a key.

"You're sure?"

"Yeah, dude. Dupont didn't even rough him up. He locked him back up and went to sleep." Sam fingered the small device on his belt as he talked.

This was a new addition. Jim wondered why the man felt it necessary to wear a white noise generator. "Listen, what's your deal? You obviously had a purpose that day in Bellingham."

Sam snorted. He rolled his eyes and tossed up a hand similar to Blair's hand gestures. "Hey, that was so an accident."

It must be an age thing, Jim realized, because he even sounded like Blair. "But you were there to watch us."

"Yeah, that whole riot thing was a test. They wanted to see how you performed in the field, if you could track. Man, you're good."

"I was motivated," Jim shot back. "You taped a head to Sandburg."

Sam had the grace to pale. "I did not want to do that. That was Miller's idea of a sick joke, not mine. I'd never in a million years-"

Jim stood, striding angrily to the bars to grasp them and glare at his visitor. "I got it already. What's your plan, Sam? Whose side are you on?"

"What do you mean?" Sam looked honestly confused.

"Are you with this company or part of the military?" Jim pressed.

"Military? You mean Sergeant Miller?" Sam waved at the air. "He's just one of the company spies. For like when we go after the military contracts."

"Why are you telling me all this?" Jim asked sharply. "Because they're going to kill me anyway?"

Sam stepped forward eagerly. "No, no. You don't have to end up that way. This company has power, man. You can be part of it. You're better than Dupont ever was. I'd rather learn from you and Blair, than that guy."

"You're an idiot if you think they'll let me live." Jim pushed away from the bars and paced the narrow space between the pit toilet and the bed. "I'm alive until they've finished poking and prodding, then I'll probably be the evening autopsy."

"You can make them understand that you want to join us."

"I don't."

"Why?"

Jim stopped. The kid seemed genuine. "Where did they find you anyway, a vacuum?" Jim circled the air above his head. "This is wrong. Get it? Dupont is not normal for us. We're protectors. We help. Sandburg will tell you. Shit, they even perverted the name. We. Are. Sentinels."

Looking like a man waiting for the punch line, Sam just stared.

Jim softened his tone, reaching out. "We're as old as fire and flint tools, kid. We're about honor and strength and keeping the weak safe. Hell, I'm not joining this outfit. Look at what Dupont has become, kid. You want that? You should be asking to join Sandburg and me."

Silently turning on his heel, Sam left.

Dupont didn't always travel with armed guards, Blair noted as he followed the man across the compound. The sky was overcast. He could smell rain hanging in the air. Dupont had slept for another couple of hours. Blair swore the walls shook a couple of times from the snores. Doing his best Daniel Boone imitation, Blair guessed it a little after noon.

"Hurry up," Dupont snapped when Blair fell behind a step.

Blair picked up the pace. He still wore the handcuff on his right wrist, the other cuff swung free. The pins and needles were just starting to lighten up. His first thought had been to try and escape, but when he had seen two sets of armed guards and the heavily protected gate, he decided to stick with Dupont and learn what he could. He was pleased to see they were heading back to the building where he'd last seen Jim.

An armed escort met them inside and stayed until they reached a posh conference room. Blair was disappointed. Jim wasn't there.

"Sit." Dupont shoved him down into a padded office chair. He jerked Blair's right arm hard as he snapped the free cuff around the chair's arm. "Stay."

Blair pressed his lips together, fighting back the urge to bark. He hadn't been called kid genius during his first two years at Rainier for his good looks. Any smartass remarks would only bring more bruises.

"What's the news?" Dupont asked, sitting heavily at the long, oak conference table.

There were five other people in the room. Two of whom Blair knew: Morton and Chardonnay. The others were strangers. A man with dark hair with silver around the temples sat at the head of the table. He looked in charge. He answered Dupont, "Still no word from the missing team. Miller should be back on base now, we'll know more at his regular check in time."

"I don't like it," Dupont stated. "Something's wrong. Where's Sam?"

"Checking the fax machine," Morton answered.

"We'll get back to that issue," the head man said decisively. "Tell us about Ellison."

Blair perked up.

Chardonnay flipped open a blue file. "We're still gathering baseline data. We'll need a full medical facility to complete our tests. But, from what we have so far, Ellison is a perfect specimen. His vitals are textbook. His condition is excellent. If not for his overactive sense of justice, he'd be an asset to the company."

"What about the..." The leader glance at Dupont, faltering, "fits that sometimes happen."

Dupont bristled.

"We induced one." Morton leaned forward, eager as a kid. "Tried all the usual stuff to bring him out. Nothing. Until we had Sam bring... him."

The six people in the room turned to look at Blair.

"How?" the man at the head of the table asked.

"We don't know," Morton replied, his eyes sparkling.

"He's mine," Dupont snapped.

"Paul," the leader chided gently. "Let's be reasonable."

"No, you listen to me, Elliot." Dupont pointed a finger at the man, obviously considering himself equal. "Miller and his men were seconds away from killing him. I told you he'd make a difference. I knew it then and it still works." He looked at the others pointedly. "No one borrows him anymore. Got that?"

Blair didn't know whether to cheer or puke.

Elliot sighed. "Fine, whatever. I need to talk to the CEO about Ellison. For now, keep him here."

Chardonnay slapped her file closed with a huff. "We can't examine him here! We need cat scans and MRIs. We might as well open him up if we can't get the proper equipment."

Blair sucked in a breath, horrified at her comment.

"And that may be all you get, Emily," Elliot said, speaking in the same commanding tone he tried with Dupont. "I'm not totally convinced this avenue of investigation is worthy of our time and money. We have what we need now. We have our next generation in training. There are other, greater issues here."

Morton looked as perturbed as his colleague. "We may be skimming the tip of this mystery. If we study this now, who knows what benefits the company could reap?"

"No," Elliot stood up. "We narrowly avoided damages with the Lanfers' fiasco. Until I've discussed this - at length - with our CEO, no one makes any moves. We still have a missing team to consider."

The meeting broke up, its members gathering up their files and heading for the door. Blair was ignored, except for a few curious glances.

"Paul, stay a minute," Elliot added as the room started to clear out.

Dupont sat back down, waiting. Blair had a good view of both the men. Elliot flipped open a teak box and pushed it over to Dupont, who withdrew a cigar.

Wonderful. Blair prepared himself for a nice dose of secondhand smoke, mentally adding lung cancer to the growing list of curses upon Dupont. He gulped when Elliot fixed him with a steely glare after puffing his own cigar to his satisfaction.

"This is the one?"

Dupont's gaze flicked to Blair, then away. "Yes."

"He can finger you," Elliot said softly. "Murder has no statute of limitations."

"I know." Dupont shrugged. He rolled the cigar between is fingers, examining it thoughtfully. "I need him, Elliot. He's connected to this somehow. I can manage him. Consider him the dog I always wanted."

"You're asking for trouble."

"I've given my life to this company. You know it would be nothing without me and what I am," Dupont bragged.

"You've been rewarded."

Dupont's eyes hardened. "I'm not retiring."

"Didn't say you were."

"You implied it."

"Speaking of Sam, how's he coming along?" Elliot asked, smoothly switching subjects.

Dupont grunted. "He's a punk."

"But he's got the gift, right?"

The massive shoulders shrugged. "I suppose."

Now a single set of footsteps neared and he had a good idea who they belonged to.

Sam wore the white noise generator. "If I do this, can you guarantee amnesty?"

Jim went to the bars, ignoring his soreness. "I'll do everything I can."

Pulling out a paper, Sam handed it over. "This came. Miller thinks we have a security breach. The cops found three bodies out in the desert where you guys were nabbed. Our men never appeared."

Jim scanned the paper. It was brief. Three Caucasian males, one with a broken neck and two fatally shot in what appeared to be an old fashion shoot out. It looked like Buck had managed to take one of them out and get a gun before he was killed. Jim pinched the bride of his nose. "Damn it."

Sam shrugged. "Amnesty, right? I don't want to go to jail."

"Have you killed anyone for them?" Jim asked pointblank. He zeroed in on the kids heartbeat.

"No, I know where the bodies are buried. But I've never killed."

Jim nodded. The words rang true. "I'll get you into the witness protection program. You'll disappear."

"I'll hold you to that promise," Sam said, taking a key from his pocket and fitting it into the lock on Jim's cage.

"We've got to get Blair," Jim said.

Sam looked surprised. "N-no way, man. Dupont's got him."

Determined, Jim took the younger sentinel by the arm. "We get Sandburg."

"We can send back help," Sam persisted. He held up the fax. "We gotta move. Do you understand what getting out of here will involve? If they catch us, we're dead."

"Listen to me carefully," Jim seethed. "Blair is my partner. He's coming with me."

"What if he'd rather stay with Dupont? His life won't be that bad."

"I'm not wasting any more time talking about this. Blair would rather risk everything to escape."

"How do you know for sure?"

Jim pushed him toward the door. "If you had a guide, you'd never have to ask."

"How does Ellison keep from having these blackouts?" Dupont asked Blair.

They were back in the apartment. Blair was cuffed to the pipe again. Something told him exercise was not an option for his future. After watching the man down a huge poor-boy sandwich and two beers for lunch, it was all he could do not to stare at the crumbs on the tray by the door.

The meeting had been enlightening. Dupont didn't seem to be getting along with the powers that be.

"What?" Blair forgot the question.

"Ellison? Blackouts?" Dupont said, looking up from a pile of reports he'd pulled out of an expensive leather brief case.

"Ah, well." Blair licked his lips. "He meditates. A lot."

"Meditates."

"Yeah, I help him." A fledgling of an idea took hold. Dupont was desperate. He seemed to think Blair held a key to controlling his senses. Suddenly Blair didn't feel like a frightened twelve year old locked in a cellar anymore. "I have to say, man. It takes mental discipline. It's not something you can just jump into."

Squinting his eyes, the big man snorted. "I've got mental discipline," he said, mocking the way Blair said the last two words. "I can do anything Ellison can do."

"Yeah, right," Blair muttered.

Dupont shoved away from this desk, stalking toward Blair.

"Hey! If you keep using me as a punching bag, you'll never learn anything," Blair blurted as fast as he could, cringing when Dupont snatched a handful of his dirty hair.

Shaking him like a rat terrier dog, Dupont released him and wiped his hand on a nearby dish towel in disgust. "If you want Ellison to stay healthy, earn your damn keep."

"I can show you what Jim does. It helps him."

They were interrupted by a polite knock on the door.

"Enter," Dupont shouted.

A guy wearing a white cook's uniform opened the door just enough to take the tray from the floor and leave. For the little bit that Blair could see of the hallway, it was empty.

"Show me," Dupont snapped, smacking the side of Blair's head hard with his palm.

They worked in tandem. Jim crept forward to the very edge of the white noise generator's range and listened until he knew the coast was clear. Then they advanced. It was slow and nerve-wracking. Jim had never had to worry about being tracked by another sentinel before. He didn't like it.

"Are we sure Dupont doesn't have one of these?" Jim asked.

Sam looked down at his belt. "He does. But he's too vain or lazy to use it."

Jim peered around the corner of the building. They were in the back of the compound, working toward the building that housed Dupont. "How good is he?"

"Good?"

Jim glanced back at Sam. "Yeah, how far can he hear? How many feet?"

Sam shrugged.

"Okay," Jim whispered patiently. "Between the two of you, who's best?"

That seemed to irritate the other man. "I don't know. They never tell me stuff like that."

"Why not?"

"Because," Sam said slowly, "I'm in training, I guess. It's like asking the professor to prove himself. You don't do that."

Jim rolled his eyes toward the cloudy sky. "But you do have a feeling, right? You are human."

A hint of a grin appeared. "I'm totally better."

Jim smiled. "Good."

"So, how are we gonna do this?"

Jim remembered another time he had plotted a way to break out of a compound. That had been in Peru and he'd had Simon and Daryl, as well as Blair to worry about. Comparatively, this should be a walk in the park.

Only these people knew all about him.

"We need a distraction," Jim said.

Things weren't going so hot. Blair steeled himself. The last thing he needed to do was to give obvious clues of his own impatience with Dupont. The guy had the concentration of a two year old. He made Jim look like a Tibetan monk.

"You're doing this on purpose," Dupont growled.

Yeah, right. Blame the other guy, Blair thought. "Sorry, man. I'm really trying here. Let's do this." Blair leaned his head back against the wall. His throat hurt from talking so much. "Close your eyes again and think of... think of a long walk with a girlfriend. You and her, nothing else. You're relaxed, you're by a lake and the ducks are floating on the water. It's peaceful, man."

Amazingly, Dupont smiled. "Julie."

Inside, Blair crowed with triumph. He finally had a mental picture he could use. Dupont was actually relaxing on his bed, his large frame sagging against the headboard.

Blair went to work with his nail on the handcuff lock, talking smoothly. "I want you to picture the way the sunlight sparkles on the water. You're happy. You're with Julie..."

"Why are we doing this?" Sam asked. "I thought you wanted Sandburg."

Jim didn't look up from his task. They'd found the generator's stockpile of fuel and a few extra cleaning supplies, just to make things interesting. Jim fell back on his covert-op days with ease. He pulled a first aid kit down from the wall of the shed and pried open the lid. "I do. But we're going to be running a gauntlet when we blow this place and we need to pare down the odds to our favor." He found the cotton he was looking for. Perfect, it was the long string, not the little balls.

A perfect wick.

He pulled out the road flares they'd taken from the trunk of one of the vehicles parked outside. "Are these the fifteen or twenty minute flares?"

"You're asking me?" Sam impatiently shifted, rocking from foot to foot.

"Never mind." Jim spotted the bag of cat litter used for soaking up emergency fuel spills and smiled. He had a job to keep Sam busy.

Dupont was under. Boy, was he under.

Blair moved slowly, freezing each time a stiff joint popped. Standing and walking over to the bed, he used the cuffs, which he had successfully picked open, to manacle Dupont. He had managed to get the big man to lie all the way down and even raise his hands above his head. It was just a matter of slipping the chain link between the ornate, iron bars of the headboard and gently closing them over the man's chubby wrists. Blair had a moment of panic when it first appeared they wouldn't fit, but they did.

"You're very, very tired now. You've worked hard. You deserve a long sleep. No matter what you might hear, you're too tired to wake up." Blair wasn't sure that last suggestion would actually work, but he didn't care.

Without looking back, he slipped out into the deserted hallway. He knew the way to Jim's building. There was no way he was leaving without his sentinel.

Jim saw the movement at the last possible second. Pushing Sam down first, they took cover behind the hood of a vehicle. Two men in suits passed, close enough to touch. Thankfully, they never looked down.

"He'll be here in three hours."

"What the plan, Elliot?"

"I'm afraid I'll have to recommend terminating his contract. He's unstable and his infatuation with this kid isn't..."

The voices quickly trailed off. Jim guessed the white noise generator had something to do with it. Sam looked amazed

"What?" Jim asked.

"It sounds like the boss is coming out here. He's the only one that can terminate contracts. Wow."

That couldn't be good. If the head guy was coming, then security would pick up. They had to get out of here now. He had to find Blair. And they needed to be able to hear everything. "Listen, from here out, we're in silent mode. Turn off the white noise generator and follow me."

Sam flicked off the switch on the side of the box.

Jim gave his ears a second to balance out the sounds again. He could hear the hum of the large generator feeding power to the complex and the wind rushing through the treetops. Somewhere nearby, a creek gurgled and flowed. Voices were everywhere. Jim sifted through them, unable to hear the one he wanted. He gave Sam the signal to move out.

Blair paused at the joining of two hallways, unsure which way was the safest. The guards seem to rove around randomly. He hated that. Couldn't they, like, have a post and stick to it? What he wouldn't give for Jim's ears right now. Taking his best scientific method to task, he made a quick choice. *... If he hollers, let me go...* Blair chanted the song mentally. Okay, left it is. He broke into an uneven jog, as fast as his bruised ribs allowed.

"Well, hello there, boys."

Jim froze. He cast an irritated glace at Sam. "You didn't tell me they had white noise generators too."

Sam looked ill. "You didn't ask."

They turned around.

Emily Chardonnay looked very much at home with the nine millimeter Heckler & Koch in her hand. She had it pointed directly at Jim's heart and wisely stood far enough back from Jim's reach, should he feel suicidal.

"I noticed your empty cage and thought I'd scout around before sending up the red flag." She raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow at Sam. "Looks like I get two specimens for the price of one."

Jim judged the distance. Her weapon was the version favored by the German Army with a 15-round clip. The bullet from a handgun is much slower than from a rifle, but Jim wasn't an idiot. She'd get a shot off before he could reach her. He tensed. The body was an amazing machine. Even a shot to the heart wouldn't stop him in time from breaking her neck. He just had one thing to do first. "Whatever happens, get Blair out," Jim whispered softly.

Emily must have seen something in Jim's expression. She stepped back. "Don't be stupid, Ellison." She took another step back, nearing the building's corner...

And right into the swing of the bright red fire extinguisher cylinder in Blair's hand. Chardonnay dropped like a rock. Jim leapt forward and snatched the gun from her limp hand. He caught Blair's shoulder as the younger man stumbled.

"You okay?" Jim asked.

"Y-yeah," Blair stuttered, pale and out of breath. "How come I always have to hit the women, Jim?"

Jim glanced down. "She's still breathing."

Sam stepped forward. "Wow."

Recoiling, Blair brought the heavy fire extinguisher up.

"Whoa, Fire Marshal Bill. He's on our side." Jim gently pulled the weapon from Blair's hands and set it down. He dropped an arm around Blair's shoulders. "Come on, Chief. Let's get out of here."

"I'm down with that," Blair whispered, leaning into Jim's support. "But how?"

"That's the easy part," Jim said, turning Blair around and heading toward the back of the compound with Sam on his heels. "The hard part was springing you. But you seem to have that under control. Thanks for showing up."

Blair stumbled and Jim caught him. "Didn't like the company I was keeping. Don't forget I got us the gun," he joked weakly.

"I'm not forgetting. So far you're up by a solid three points," Jim told him.

"Is this like normal for you two dudes?" Sam asked them as they jogged.

Jim snorted. If the guy only knew. He sobered instantly as Blair stumbled again. They still had to get out of here. He spotted the vehicle that he and Sam had singled out for themselves. An older model International Scout II, it wasn't the prettiest in the fleet, but it had four-wheel drive and a key in the ignition.

Blair wrinkled his nose as Jim opened the door and pushed him in first. "Whew. Fuel leak?"

Sam climbed into the back.

Jim glanced at his watch. He was ahead of schedule. "Don't knock it, Sandburg. That smell is the latest in bad guy repellent. Get into your seatbelt."

"I would if I could." Blair's hand scrambled for the left belt and came up empty. "It's not-"

A deafening explosion rocked the vehicle as a fireball shot up to their left. Jim cranked the key and floored the accelerator. "Must have been the 15 minute flare after all!" he shouted as they shot forward across the gravel yard.

Men ran from buildings. Flames leaped high into the sky, shooting firebrands out like a fountain. Somewhere, an emergency klaxon started ringing. Jim aimed for the front gate. The speedometer needle hit forty as the front grill crashed into the chain link barricade. A spray of bullets pelted the side of the old vehicle. Both Sam and Blair ducked for cover as the windows broke and thousands of safety glass cubes showered them.

Then they were through.

"We made it!" Blair screamed victoriously.

Jim struggled to keep the vehicle on the dirt road as they rounded the first curve. They were climbing up the side of a steep ridge. The compound had been nestled into a small valley floor. "It's not over yet," Jim answered, spying half a dozen vehicles giving chase. Jim had to give them credit. For a civilian outfit, they seemed to work well under duress. "You're up, Sam!"

"Dudes!" Sam cheered from the back. He picked up the first bottle and pulled out a lighter from his pocket. "Banzai!" He let the first one fly.

The bottle smashed on the ground and the first vehicle safely crossed it. The fire swooshed up just as the second car approached and the driver jerked the wheel hard to the right, sending his vehicle into a tree and bottlenecking the road.

"Count to five on the next one!" Jim shouted. "Wait for the corner, when I slow down."

Sam waited, a huge grin on his face, his eyes gleaming with excitement. When Jim slowed for the next hairpin curve, Sam lit the cotton ball and counted before throwing. This missile sailed through the air and smashed into the windshield of the pursuing vehicle.

Jim didn't look back again as he stomped the gas again. They had a lead and he intended on keeping it. The road climbed up the mountainside. The Scout seemed to feel each rotation of the wheel as they fled their captors. Jim could feel the chassis shudder. Something was wrong with it. The front end shouldn't be this loose.

"What's wrong?" Blair demanded, bracing himself as the vehicle skidded during the next turn.

"I think we've lost the steering linkage," Jim answered tightly. Damn, they were so close to freedom. "I should have picked a newer car."

"This was the beefiest rig," Sam answered. "The others couldn't have crashed the gate."

"Hold on!" Jim felt the steering fail. He floored the brake as the car left the road and slammed, bumper first, into the dirt bank cutaway.

Blair uncurled from the heap his body had made on the passenger side floor. He rubbed his head and tried to focus. "Jim?"

"Here," Jim answered with a groan. "Sam?"

"Check and ouch." The younger sentinel had ended up draped over Blair's seat.

"Looks like we're on foot for the rest of this escape." Jim pushed his door open, wincing as he slid across the broken glass bits that had landed in his seat. "How much further before we reach a phone, Sam?"

Blair was the last to untangle himself from the vehicle. He happily let Jim pull him, backwards, from the open passenger door. "Where is here, anyway?"

"We're about ten miles north of the Dworshack Reservoir," Sam answered, rubbing a newly forming goose egg on his forehead.

"I have no idea where that's at," Jim commented.

"Middle of Idaho, near the Clearwater River," Sam added. "It's pretty remote."

Blair groaned. "For once I'd like to see the bad guys build their headquarters in Malibu."

Sam tugged a dreadlock. "Actually, we have an executive retreat there, too."

Jim shook his head. "Come on, we need to keep moving."

To Blair's surprise, Jim left the road and took them into the forest.

"What? Why?" Blair looked back.

"Come on, Sandburg." Jim caught the sleeve of his sweatshirt. "We're on foot. They still have cars, at least until the cat litter hits their intake valves, but they can still bring in reinforcements. We need to leave the road."

Blair sighed. "Last time we trekked through a forest like this, we ended up doing a Thelma and Louise off a cliff."

"I prefer to think of it as a Butch and Sundance," Jim told him.

"Wait a sec, didn't both teams end up dead?" Sam asked.

Blair struggled over a downed log. His ribs hurt, his broken arm hurt and he had passed exhaustion about two hours ago. He was so far gone, he didn't know a good name for it. "No points for pessimism, man."

Jim slowed down, suddenly concerned. "Sandburg? You okay?"

"I'm fine," Blair lied. "Need to keep moving, right?"

"Right." Jim frowned, but led the way again.

Blair followed. The banter had helped. But reality was crashing down. It looked like they were going to make it. He'd found Jim. They were out of the compound. He didn't have Dupont in his face anymore. That was all good.

On the other hand, he couldn't forget the vision of Buck walking out into the desert with two gunmen.

He stood on the edge of a sheer drop off, listening to the wind whistle, Blair panting with exhaustion, distant sounds of searching. The unmistakable sound of a helicopter caused him to spin and search the late afternoon sky. He cursed the clouds for breaking up and allowing them to use a bird.

Sam lifted his chin, mimicking Jim. "That must be the boss."

Supine in the duff, and looking like it would take an army to get him to his feet again, Blair didn't even open his eyes. "Who? What?"

"They brought the boss in," Sam pointed up. He sat with his back against a tree. "Helicopter."

Blair tossed his right arm over his eyes. "Great, they can use it to search for us."

"Come on," Jim ordered. "Let's move out."

Rising to his feet with supreme effort and with pain etched on his face, Blair stared dully at the mountainside, careful to keep the cliff behind him. "Which way?"

"We'll have to double back some. Get around this drop off," Jim answered as he pushed aside the dense vegetation. The underbrush thrived in these mountains. "No river at the bottom for us to land in this time."

He could hear Blair following and was careful not to slap him with branches. They zigzagged down the side of the mountain. Daylight waned by the time they hit a light deer path heading in the direction Jim wanted to go. While standing at the top of one of the mountains, he had caught sight of power lines. Power meant buildings and hopefully help.

"Hey, Ellison," Sam called out.

Jim turned to see the man bending over Blair. "What happened?"

"He went down," Sam explained, bewildered.

"I'm fine," Blair mumbled, his words slurred.

With a hand on his shoulder, Jim kept Blair from standing. He squatted down to evaluate his friend. "Sit still for a second."

Blair was still panting, breaths short and rapid. Jim remembered the blow he'd received when they'd been kidnapped. Crashing during the escape couldn't have helped either. Blair hadn't been wearing a seatbelt.

"How's the ribs?"

"Hurts like... hell, but okay," Blair answered. His eyes were dull, his face pinched with exhaustion. He trembled.

"Sandburg, when's the last time you ate?" Jim asked. He'd been fed twice while in the cage.

"Dupont wasn't... big on... feeding his pets."

No wonder Blair was this way. Jim scrubbed his face and pondered. They still had miles of cross-country walking through dense and nearly vertical terrain. They couldn't afford to rest. They'd only have another couple hours of precious daylight. He'd planned on continuing into the night. Perhaps they should split up. He could stay with Blair and send Sam.

Could he trust the guy?

"Jim," Blair said as he moved to stand. "I'm fine. Let's go."

"You sure?" Jim wanted to believe the obvious lie and helped Blair to his feet.

"Yeah." Blair swayed. "Whoa, head rush."

"A bit longer, then we'll take a rest, okay?" Jim asked.

"Okay." Blair took a deep, careful breath and winced. "Ready."

A bit longer ended up being more than three hours. Blair didn't fall anymore. He kept up without complaint and Jim had never been prouder, but when he started to hear the tiny grunts of pains from his guide, Jim held up a hand in the darkness. "Enough, we can rest here."

"Thankyougod," Blair whispered as he crumpled in a semi-controlled descent.

Sam squatted down next to him, careful not to touch. "You okay, man?'

"Sleep. All I want is sleep," Blair answered as he curled into a ball.

"Sam." Jim jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Start breaking pine limbs and dragging them over."

"We're gonna have a fire?" Sam asked, standing and brushing off his knees.

"No, we can use them for bedding. I'll see if I can scrounge up something to eat," Jim whispered. "We're only going to get a few hours rest before I want to move out again."

"He's wiped," Sam said, nodding at Blair.

"Faster we get out of these mountains, faster we get to a hospital," Jim answered. "Keep your eyes and ears on full alert."

"Gotcha, man." Sam flashed a grin, his teeth white in the gloom. "Sure is easier with him around. What's up with that?"

"I'll explain it later. Go."

Jim scavenged for food. He pulled roots, plucked at mushrooms and eyed green berries. The problem was the season. It was still too cold. He took a handful of roots to a stream that tumbled down the mountainside. Washing every bit of the dirt from the tubular bits of plant he returned to Blair.

"Here, Chief." Jim shook his shoulder.

Blair didn't move from his curled hibernation. Jim sighed. Fine, he'd let the kid catch a few hours of sleep first. Sam returned with the first armload of branches. Jim arranged them into a nest of springy, scented pallet suitable for two. With Sam's help, they manhandled a grouchy Blair onto the pine bed.

Jim nodded to Sam. "You can sleep. I'll take the first watch."

But the other man shook his head. "I'm a better choice. I got a real bed last night. You go."

Not able to deny the logic, Jim agreed. None of them wore coats. They had no blanket. While he had been moving, Jim hadn't noticed the way the mountain air had chilled. He noticed it now. He noticed the way Blair shivered in his sleep.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Let's try this," Jim said. "You get on the back side of him, I'll take the front. Can you stay awake while you're lying down?"

Sam bobbed his head, his locks swinging in the darkness. "Cool, a little body heat sharing. He needs it."

When Jim finally managed to get Blair to uncurl and they both lay down on either side of him, Blair sighed and buried his nose into Jim's neck. Sam was inches away from Jim's face, grinning.

"What?" Jim asked gruffly.

"You're just not like I expected. You scream cop, but you're cool."

Jim rolled his eyes. "I get that a lot." He folded an arm under his head. "Wake me in a few hours."

"Gotcha."

Blair woke confused. He was warm. He'd been cold when he went to sleep. He sniffed and smelled Jim. When he moved his legs he bumped into someone else.

Weird.

"Come on, Chief. Time to eat and get moving."

The warmth behind him left and Blair pulled back enough to see Jim's face. "Food?"

"Sorta," Jim said with a smirk.

Blair glanced over his shoulder. Sam had been the other bed warmer. Whose idea had that been? Blair still didn't completely trust the guy. Jim was pressing something into his right hand. It looked like an anemic carrot. Blair sat up.

"Chew it slowly. I could only find a few." Jim stood and stretched.

Sniffing the root, and wondering if his stomach had shrunk to the size of a pea, he bit off the end. Not bad tasting. Blair chewed and looked around. They were still in the Idaho Mountains. It was early. The trees towered above them, dark and timeless, watching and waiting. The sky was filled with dirty looking clouds that touched the mountain tops. Loose bits of cloud floated free, playing between the treetops on the mountainside across the valley from them.

After they drank from a stream and finished their root breakfast, the three men continued their journey. Blair was amazed at the difference a few hours of sleep made. His thoughts were clear again. His body was sore and his arm hurt, a lot, but he felt better. He felt hope.

They were going to make it.

"Damn," Jim said, stopping and holding up his hand.

"What?" Blair pressed forward to look around Jim's broad shoulders. "Whoa."

They'd been making good time. It was mid morning. But the terrain before them dropped off with dizzying cliffs to the base of the mountain.

Sam had been bringing up the rear. The dense forest had made walking in a single line appropriate more times than not. He stood on tiptoes to see what had stopped them. "Yikes. Looks like another detour. Which way?"

Jim looked right and left. "You two stay put. I'll scout around and come back."

Before Blair could suggest another plan, Jim was gone. Okay, fine. If Jim trusted this guy enough to leave them alone together, then Blair would too. He'd wait with the guy, but he wasn't going to talk to him. Instead, he moved to a tree and sat with his back against the rough bark.

"Look, man. I'm sorry about gassing you and all," Sam said after a few minutes of strained silence.

Blair eyed him with disbelief. "You left a severed head in my lap."

Sam blushed. "I didn't want to do that. I swear to god. I didn't even know he had it with him."

"Whatever, man." Blair just wanted to forget about it.

"And I'm sorry about your other friend," Sam continued.

Coldness spread within Blair's gut, moving up into his chest. "What about him?"

Panic and confusion swamped the other man's features. He stuttered as he verbally backpedaled. "I t-thought they told you, or Jim... no, I guess you wouldn't know."

Jim's return through the brush caused Blair to jump in fear. "Jim!"

"Let's move out," Jim ordered, pointing back the way he had come.

Blair scrambled to his feet. "Wait, tell me about Buck first. What did you find out?"

Jim shot an angry look at the young sentinel. "Not now."

"Yeah, now," Blair fired back. "What happened to him? He's dead, isn't he?"

Jim's expression softened. He moved toward Blair. "He took out the two guys before he died, Sandburg. He did good."

"G-good?" Blair repeated in disbelief. How could he have thought things were looking up?

"It was two to one. They had guns," Sam offered lamely. "He must have been pretty amazing."

Blair swallowed hollowly. Rain fell softly, filtered through the trees to hit the forest floor. The sky was crying.

"Chief?" Jim began.

Blair felt nothing. "Let's go." He pushed by the two men, heading in the general direction Jim had just returned from.

"Do you feel it?" Sam whispered as he walked for a few minutes at Jim's side. "It's gone."

Jim glanced over at the man, irritated. Of course he felt it, damn it. Who did this kid think he was? He's only been around Blair a few hours and suddenly he was the expert?

"Not now," Jim told him.

Sam fell silent.

The terrain had started to give them a break, the inclines were more forgiving, the trees were not so dense. In fact, they had walked through a cleared section a while back and seen the remnants of a homestead, although the cabin had been reduced to its foundations.

Jim had let Blair take the lead, to let his partner have his space. Blair was quiet, shut down in more ways than verbal. They were all rain-soaked to their skin. Jim had kept his senses on high all day. His head hurt from the effort. Thankfully, the sounds of the search for them had slacked off. There hadn't been any helicopter sounds all day.

A dark shape in the trees caused Jim to pause. He turned. "Hold up, guys."

A quick recon discovered a cabin, old and abandoned, but a real, honest to God structure. They entered through the front door. Jim ignored the sounds of tiny feet running for the small holes in the walls. The main room was bare. The chance of finding a working phone didn't exist.

Jim caught Sam's attention and gave him a signal to search. During the day, the two of them had learned their own style of sign language. Sam left to check out the back of the cabin.

"Watch the floorboards, Blair," Jim warned.

Blair nodded, not moving from his position, except to lean on the wall and cradle his arm. Sam returned empty handed.

"Okay." Jim rubbed his hands briskly together. "We can take a few minutes from the rain outside before we press on. At least we know we're getting closer to civilization."

"There should be an old road leading to this place," Sam said excitedly. "I'll look around for it, okay?" He left when Jim nodded.

Jim lowered himself down to sit on the wooden floor, his back against the wall. Just being out of the weather seemed like a slice of heaven. "Take a load off, Chief."

Sinking awkwardly to his butt, Blair rested his forehead on his knees. They sat across the room from each other. Jim didn't like the arrangement. He would have preferred Blair at his side where he belonged, but knew the man was grieving.

"Not much longer. You doing okay?" Jim asked.

"Yeah, I'm good." The answer was muffled and thin. After a stretch of listening to the rain hit the old cedar shingles, Blair spoke again. "Are you sure, Jim? About Buck? Do we know for real?"

"Only a fax from their spy in the army," Jim admitted.

"Shit." Blair hugged his shins.

It suddenly dawned on Jim that had he never gotten Buck involved last week...

Jim felt wretched. Splayed fingers of both hands combing over his short hair, he drew his legs up, elbows to knees and pressed his palms hard against his skull.

A scuffling sound and Blair was at his side, sitting shoulder to shoulder. Silently, he leaned into Jim, giving support, returning to the place he belonged.

Jim sat up and circled his left arm around Blair's shoulders, eyes moist. "I'm sorry."

"Me too," Blair whispered.

"Aww, how sweet." Sergeant Miller walked into the cabin.

A man sporting a buzz cut and looking like an extra in a war movie snapped a sharp salute to Miller, turned on his heel and strode purposefully toward the grey Hummer and other miscellaneous vehicles parked the in overgrown yard before the cabin.

Blair felt the rain drip from his hair under the collar of his wet, oversized sweatshirt. He stared dully at the rope that anchored his right wrist to the mud-smeared cast covering his left. Jim and Sam wore handcuffs.

"Not much longer," Miller gloated as he walked around the three men kneeling on the wet ground. He wore military combat clothing without any insignia, like the men that answered to him.

Blair didn't look up. He barely had the strength to breathe and keep from falling face first in the dirt.

Jim tilted his head. "So we finally get to meet the person calling the shots."

"No doubt the last person you'll meet before you die, Ellison. I'd say it's safe to bet your contract is terminated, Sam," Miller advised with confidence. He patted the pager-sized device clipped to his belt. "Your kind has an Achilles heel the size of a battleship, don't you?"

Jim showed no fear. "So, what is the going price on honor, Miller?"

The rogue army sergeant's face flushed with anger but the conversation was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of a helicopter. It appeared above the trees, stirring the limbs in a crazy dance. Behind the cabin was a clearing large enough to accommodate the craft. Miller left three of his men in charge and went to meet his boss.

Blair shifted uncomfortably. Sitting on his heels was causing his legs to grow numb.

"I'm sorry," Sam said softly. "I didn't see them until they were right on top."

"I don't get how they found us," Jim questioned.

"Shut up," one of the men demanded.

A small entourage came into sight. Miller walked alongside a short, Caucasian male with steel grey hair, dressed in a Wall Street suit. Another man, muscular like a body guard, walked at his shoulder, a step back and holding an umbrella. Blair sucked in his breath as he focused on the fourth man. This one walked apart from the others. With dark, wavy hair and dark golden complexion, Blair placed him from the Middle East. He wore black clothing and an expensive parka suitable for the weather. He walked with fluid strength and power-filled grace.

Jim stiffened and Blair swore he heard a deep growl emit from his throat.

The parka-clad man's gaze passed over the three prisoners. Blair felt it like a branding iron. If Dupont had caused a sensation of red fire ants, this guy was like acid. He shuddered as the realization hit.

God, no.

"These are the ones?" the short man in the suit barked at Miller.

"Yes, sir."

"This is the one that was ours?"

Miller nodded, looking at Sam with a wolfish grin. "Yes, sir."

"Kill him." The boss looked at Jim like a rancher inspecting a new bull. "He's got the ability?"

It was Parka man that answered, "Yes."

Blair glanced at Jim, hearing a growl again. Jim's body language was an over-wound spring, demanding to be released.

"He's too old. Kill him," the boss ordered, then studied Blair, obviously at a loss to even ask what the younger man's relevance to the chase had been. He looked at Miller with a raised eyebrow.

"I'm not sure, sir," Miller said.

"The reports were vague, sir," the man holding the boss's umbrella added. He pulled a thin notebook from a pocket and glanced down. "Morton reports a connection. He's unsure how it occurs. He did note Dupont's insistence that this one remain in his presence."

The boss slashed the air with his hand. "Dupont," he said with a sneer. "Forget it, kill all three of them."

"Wait," Parka Man said. He turned to his boss. "Give the young one to me."

The boss looked surprised. "Why?"

Even with his mind frozen in fear, Blair could see a power play. This man had obvious value to the boss. It didn't take a high IQ to figure it out.

The boss sighed. "Take him, then. He's your responsibility."

Blair could swear the ground shook as the dark dressed man crossed the short distance and roughly yanked him to his feet. His touch was putrid death. Blair felt his insides shrivel as if freeze-dried.

Jim bolted to his feet. "No!"

Blair had a sudden vision of two large cats, all sharp claws and huge teeth, then all hell broke loose.

"Now! Move, move, move!"

Jim heard the command but ignored it. A consuming desire to take out this man pushed back all other reasoning. He heard Blair yelling his name. He could hear both Blair and Sam react. Jim knew none of them would go down without a fight.

But Jim only had eyes for the stranger who had dared to encroach upon his territory. Amazingly, no bullets stopped him. The challenger met him with a block but Jim used the weight behind his charge to send them both over. Then Jim was flying from an expert flip as the man used Jim's energy against him. They both bounced to their feet in mirror images, as if trained by the same master. Hampered by handcuffs, Jim had a split second to strike a defensive pose before the other came at him.

A killing blow to his throat was deflected and Jim got a shot in before a solid kick to his gut landed him on his butt. He rolled to the side, narrowly avoided another kick that would have crushed his skull. He wrapped an arm around the foot and twisted. The challenger went down.

Gunfire sounded over the sounds of fighting. The fight was interrupted. Strong hands grabbed his arms. Jim was jerked to his feet. He twisted, attempting to get free, still caught in the bloodlust desire to kill the other man.

More soldiers had his challenger pinned by his arms, real soldiers with proper uniforms. Jim took in his surroundings. The area was swarming with military. Blair suddenly fell upon him, his lip swollen. Someone had cut the ropes around his wrists. "Jim, Jim! It's okay," he jabbered excitedly. "Let him go," he yelled at the soldiers holding back the sentinel. Blair turned to another. "Tell them to let him go!"

Packert stood, supervising the surprise arrest. He nodded.

Jim was released. Dazed and more than confused at the sudden change in events, Jim looked around them. Sam was alive, too. Miller was down with a nasty looking bullet wound to his shoulder. A field medic was attending him. Miller's men were being taken into custody. The boss and his umbrella holder were in handcuffs. The umbrella had not survived. It lay trampled on the wet ground.

Jim turned back to the other sentinel, meeting his gaze. Hands still manacled, he grabbed Blair's wet sweatshirt and he took several steps backwards, pulling Blair along. He didn't want this guy anywhere near his partner.

Blair reached for Jim's face. "Jim, you're bleeding."

"I'm fine." Jim stood patiently as a man wearing a corporal rank on his collar opened the handcuffs and freed his wrists. A man standing over by the vehicles caught his eye and he smiled. "Chief, look over there."

Blair looked. Buck Stevens raised an arm in greeting and began to thread his way through the swarm of military personnel.

"Buck!" Blair shouted. He joyfully pounded Jim's arm. "Jim. Look! Look!"

"I see - ouch - watch it, chief." Jim caught Blair before the younger man could bolt away. "Wait here, he's coming."

When Buck was close enough that Jim felt it safe, he let Blair go. Blair hit his uncle with a full hug that threatened to send them both to the wet ground. Jim watched Buck clutch Blair tightly as the younger man pressed his face into his neck. He turned down his hearing out of respect, giving the two men their privacy.

Packert appeared at his side and Jim stuck out his hand in greeting. "Thank you."

"Welcome." Packert shook Jim's hand.

Buck and Blair joined them, both with arms around the other's back and shoulders.

"How'd you find us?" Jim asked.

"Blair led us to you," Packert answered.

"What?" Blair exclaimed. "How?"

Buck clapped Jim on the shoulder with his free hand. "They put it in your cast, runt. Little metal strips that allowed them to track you. That's how they got to me in time to keep me from being shot outside of Goldendale."

Jim looked at Blair's cast. "Like those strips the treasury puts inside currency?"

"Exactly," Packert told them.

Anger grew as Jim realized they'd been under surveillance the entire time, kept an eye on, but not rescued. "You waited until you had the head man on location before getting us out."

The captain had the decency to blush.

The military had made a quick and efficient field camp in the mountains, close enough to where they had been kept prisoner to allow them quick movement, but not so close they were detected. The weather had grown worse. The decision had been made to wait it out. They had everything they needed. If tomorrow brought better weather, Packert was going to call in a Chinook helicopter, the army's work horse equivalent for troop and supply movers. Jim tilted his head, listening. Packert had been gone for a few hours. It appeared he was back.

Packert entered the tent. "We found it. They'd already left."

"Damn," Jim muttered. He wanted those doctors caught. "What about records?"

"We're still looking." Packert glanced at Blair. "You said when you escaped, Dupont was alive?"

"Yeah," Blair blurted out in alarm. "Totally, absolutely. Why?"

"We found him in a bed. Handcuffed."

"Right," Blair said with a nod.

"Fatally shot through the head."

"Wrong!" Blair bolted to his feet, looking at Buck and Jim in bewilderment. "No, I didn't shoot him!"

Jim caught his arm and tugged him back down into his seat. "No one said you did, Sandburg."

"Hey, remember when we heard Elliot and that other guy talking? Someone was coming to `terminate' a contract?" Sam smacked a fist into his palm. "That's what they were talking about. Dupont was already a liability, he was slow and not as good as he used to be. He was acting all whacked over..." Sam blushed. "Er, anyway. Yeah, that must be it."

"I think you're right." Packert dropped into an empty seat and removed his wet cap, running a hand over his hair. "Well, we've bagged the head guy. It's a start. Other than Miller's injury, the arrest went well. You know, I had planned a distraction, but your sudden attack did the job," Packert told Jim with a smile.

"I don't get how you could keep such a big group of men so quiet," Sam asked.

"That was Mr. Steven's idea," Packert admitted. "A large white noise generator. I admit I wouldn't have thought of it."

"Way to go, Uncle Buck," Blair whispered, reaching for the man's arm.

Buck patted the borrowed military coat covering Blair's back. "I'm just glad it worked out."

"What happens now?" Jim asked.

"What do you mean?" Packert answered. "We finish inventorying their compound."

Jim didn't mean that. There was no way Packert was stupid. The man had to have made some obvious conclusions. "What I'm asking is what are you going to tell your commanding officers about us?"

Blair had gone still, his blue eyes wide, his face pale.

Packert toyed with his cap. "Well, I've been thinking about that." They had the corner of the tent to themselves as soldiers bustled about them doing various tasks, mostly packing up supplies.

"And?" Blair pressed.

"We've been after Paraho for years. They were stealing government contract information and selling it overseas to less-than-friendly countries. I lost more good men than I want to think about trying to infiltrate them. You..." He looked at the group before him. "... all made it happen. We have solid arrests. You're willing to testify. I'd say you have already served your country to the full extent anyone should be asked, no matter what genetic abilities might have been used."

Jim waved a hand toward the hustle and bustle around them. "What about the troops?"

"These men are hand picked. I trust them completely. They'll do what I say."

Blair's shoulders relaxed and he released his breath with a mutter of thanksgiving.

Jim's ire against Packert began to thaw. What would he have done in Packert's shoes? "I still would have preferred being asked before you tethered us to that stake."

"I know, I know." Packert rubbed his forehead. "I knew I had a Judas in my camp, but I didn't know who it was. I never suspected Miller. I couldn't risk telling you."

"Dude, I can stick around and help." Sam leaned forward. "I mean, I don't exactly want to march in formation and wear these kinda clothes. But I can work with the army and help out, if you guys need me."

"I'll have you assigned as my temporary civilian assistant. I'll run it by legal. If nothing else, we'll call it protective custody until the trial." Packert beamed.

Blair pointed a finger at him. "Don't let them cut your hair, man." He ignored Jim's delicate cough. "Seriously, they'll try. I should know."

Packert glanced at his watch. "I need to head back to the compound."

Sam rubbed his hands together. "I'll come with you. There were a few hidey-holes I can point out, where they sometimes kept sensitive material."

Packert nodded, standing up. "Anyone else want to join us? We should be back in a few hours."

Buck nodded. "I'd like to go."

Blair and Jim exchanged a quick look. Both had something else in mind: uninterrupted sleep. "Actually," Jim said for them both, "we'd prefer a quiet, dark corner and a couple of cots with blankets."

"I can arrange that."

Jim and Blair were escorted to a small tent. Buck reached out to muss Blair's nearly dry locks before telling him to get some rest. Alone for the first time in over twenty-four hours, the two partners stood side by side. To Jim's surprise, it was Blair that reached out first.

"Hey, you're still wound tight, man. You need to relax."

Jim sucked in a deep breath, held it and let it go. "Relax? I still feel a step away from a life of military servitude."

"No." Blair shook his head. "I trust Packert. He's not going to out us."

The term brought a smile. "Out us, Junior? Out us?"

"You know what I mean," Blair insisted, smacking his arm. "Jerk."

The tent had two cots, each with rolled up sleeping bags. Jim untied the cord around his and flipped the bag open. "I'd just feel better seeing less olive drab."

Blair froze in the act of removing his outer coat. "Why? Do you hear something else? You think Packert is lying to us?"

Jim shook his head. "No, it's just nerves, I guess."

The earlier look of confidence was gone. Blair glanced at the tent's closed flap. "Sure?"

"It's over. We made it. You did good," Jim tweaked a lock of Blair's hair. "Hey, did you get enough to eat?" He produced another military issue power bar from his pocket, remembering how little Blair had eaten after they'd been rescued. He had tucked it away for him. "Here."

"Oh, forget it. Those are too gross." Blair bent and started to untie the knot on his bedding. "Sleep works for me."

Jim watched him unsuccessfully attempt to loosen the knot. His broken left wrist was making his movements clumsy. "Here, I'll do it."

Blair let him and soon the sleeping bag was unfurled. Jim fluffed it up. When he turned back, he found Blair studying him with frank appraisal. "What?"

"I'm just thinking," Blair said, blushing. "Dupont. Thinking about the first time... what if I'd ended up with..." He broke off again. He sat on the cot as if his legs had lost their strength. "I think it was Dupont that musta' called Naomi and told her where to find me. They wanted to kill me, but he didn't. He didn't have enough clout to bring me along. I guess. I don't know."

Jim sat on his own cot, so close their knees brushed. Blair looked like he had more to share. This was his friend's way of processing. Jim preferred a few hours in the gym followed by a beer. But that didn't work for everyone.

"I just realized something," Blair said, a glimmer of life in his tired eyes. "If Naomi hadn't made me forget Dupont, I never would've had anything to do with sentinel research. Wow, man. How weird is that?"

Now Jim was afraid. What if Blair had never walked into that treatment room, dressed as a bogus doctor? The alternative reality scared him. He crossed his arms. "Just remember, I'm your sentinel, got it?" He squinted his best Clint Eastwood gaze. "No refunds."

Blair didn't look the slightest troubled. He even grinned. "Real tough guy, eh?"

"Bring it on," Jim invited.

Curling an arm around his chest, Blair overacted. "Oh, I would, except for my bruised ribs. I'll have to beat you up another day, when I'm healed."

Jim laughed. "Get some sleep."

"This is going to be hard to explain to the neighbors," Buck said as he watched the helicopter lift off. The helicopter rose until it reached the altitude needed to head east again.

Jim eyed the empty canyon landscape critically. "What neighbors?"

"Don't forget the family on the other side of the lake, Jim," Blair explained around a wide yawn. "They count."

Their travel from the Idaho military camp had involved: a brief stop at Fairchild Air Force base where they were interviewed; fed a hot meal; grabbed a few hours of sleep on stiff mattresses; and then they were loaded into the smaller helicopter that had brought them here.

"They delivered my truck." Buck pointed to his vehicle as they walked up the road toward the house. "Saves time."

Standing on the front porch, Blair turned to look back at the peaceful surroundings. It was early in the morning. Most of the canyon was in shadows. "I can't believe it's really over."

Jim clapped his back. "Believe it."

The phone was ringing when they entered, Buck reached it first. "Stevens."

Blair cringed. It didn't take sentinel hearing to know who was yelling on the other end. He swapped a guilty look with Jim. "We were supposed to keep in touch."

Jim looked at his feet. "Oops."

Buck was taking the brunt of Simon Banks' tirade. He managed to get a few words in, enough to let the man know that everything was over and no one was seriously hurt.

Jim jerked his head toward the extra room. "I'm going to go catch a few more hours sleep."

Buck's eyes grew large. He mouthed the word `coward' and held the handset out to Blair.

"No, no. I'm with Jim, man. Sleep's calling me." He backed away, holding his hands out.

They escaped to their room.

"That was so mean," Blair muttered.

"Go and take the phone if you want, Chief." Jim was already down to his boxers and in his bed.

Blair smiled as he toed off his shoes. His body did demand more sleep. "Nope. Why do you think the guy's my hero, man? He'll handle it."

Early that afternoon, Jim followed the trail back toward the cliffs. Their bags were packed. Simon was due to pick them up tonight. Jim was going to miss this canyon. He could get used to hanging out here.

A white tailed deer lifted her head to appraise him without fear as he walked by. She returned to her grazing, content with the green grass growing by the small stream that flowed from the plunge pool lakes down by Buck's house.

Jim returned to the hummock and spotted his guide and Buck sitting in a rowboat. Blair was flicking his fishing line too much. He'd never catch anything that way.

"How'd you sleep?" Buck asked.

Jim paused, listening. They were too far away to see him without binoculars.

"Not too bad, considering," Blair answered.

Buck brought his line up and cast it out in front, making it look easy, effortless. "Do you wish things were different?"

"Different?"

"Do you wonder what your life would be like without sentinels?"

Blair chuckled. "It'd be a lot more boring, that's for sure."

Jim smiled.

"Maybe boring is good. It's a lot safer than being fought over like a scrap of meat," Buck said.

Blair didn't answer.

Jim wasn't smiling anymore. He turned and walked back to the house alone.

"You're quiet." Blair sat down in the rocker next to Jim later that same day. The front porch was the coolest spot to be this time of the afternoon. Blair stretched his legs out, his bare toes flexing.

"Thinking." Jim lifted his chin and scratched his neck.

"About?"

"Oh, stuff."

"Pretty deep." Blair smiled. "Even for you."

Jim didn't have it in him to return his normal flippant comeback. It made Blair worry. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"I've been thinking about the last couple of days and the threat those others were for you." Jim sighed. He plucked a loose thread on his shirt's hem. "I think we should talk."

"Ookay," Blair drawled, "I'm willing. Let's talk."

"It's too dangerous for you to-"

Blair held up an open palm. "Enough. If we're heading there, then I'm not talking."

Jim closed his eyes. "That's a first. Sandburg doesn't want to talk."

Blair leaned forward. "Jim, give me some credit, okay? I know we've got some new dangers to face. I'm beginning to realize Burton seems to have left out some things in his book. Hell, maybe he did write about it, only those papers were destroyed. Whatever, but I'm not an idiot. I know the score."

Jim covered his eyes. "I don't want you hurt. Look at you. Your arm is broken..."

"Been there before, man. It heals," Blair said, quickly splicing the comment into Jim's argument.

"... your lip is still swollen..."

"It's going down."

"...You're covered with bruises..."

"So are you, they'll fade."

"...your ribs..."

Blair nodded. "Hurt. But Jim, all this is temporary. You need someone to back you up," Blair answered. "Face it, that's me. I'm not letting you go."

Dropping his hand, Jim sat for a few seconds. The silence strained. "So you don't think you're a scrap of meat?"

"Snoop." Blair smacked his arm and started to pull back, but Jim caught his hand and squeezed.

"I'm not the only sentinel anymore. Where are all the guides?"

Blair snorted. "Fancy name, man. It just takes a little knowledge, some studying. I could even train Packert to help Sam."

Jim shook his head. "Shut up and... feel."

A welcoming tingle flowed up Jim's arm. In the sentinel's inner eye, it seemed to wash through him and flow out, back into Blair. He didn't understand it. Somehow, during their adventure, Blair had temporarily shut it down, but it was back again. Did he even know he'd done it?

"Can't you feel this thing we have, Chief? You think this comes from a book?"

Blair looked abashed. "You sense it too? I don't know," he whispered. He pulled back, crossed his arms tightly and intently studied his feet. "I guess I never realized what it was until I felt the... wrongness of Dupont and that other guy. Sam was the only one that didn't make my skin crawl. I wonder why?" Blair nibbled his lip a second before looking back at Jim, eyes alight with sudden interest. "I wonder if this is territorial, maybe more of a tribal issue-"

"Do we have to study it, Einstein?" Jim asked. "Can't it just be there? Why does it need a name?"

"Because... because I'm a scientist?" Blair answered hesitantly. "I am, Jim. I'm wired that way. You're wired to be a sentinel and I'm me."

Jim rubbed his forehead. "Sandburg, back to my original point-"

"Jim, stop and think about this. Your own argument should convince you that I'm right. I mean, if this..." Blair waved his good hand between them. "... thing is part of the deal, then I'm better off with you. Right? Look what happened to me when Dupont met me the first time?"

"The chances of you running into another-"

"Scares the hell out of me!" Blair said forcefully. He moistened his lips and tried to laugh, but it sounded more like he was being strangled. "That last guy. I gotta tell you, man. I know he's in custody now, but so was Lanfers. But I'm not a kid anymore. That twelve-year-old in the cellar grew up. You know?"

Strangely enough, Jim did know. Blair could handle himself very well. He had proved it and more.

Up until this moment, Jim had ignored the primal voice within which had been telling him the same thing. It was the civilized Jim Ellison that had pushed this argument, the one that worried Blair was doing this out of some youthful illusion of misguided awe. Blair didn't sound like a child. He argued like a man with all the facts, who had made his decision and would stick by it, a true warrior.

Blair studied Jim's face, searching for a clue. He bit his lip. "You said it yesterday. Remember? No refunds."

"Yeah." Jim swallowed hard. "Yeah, I did."

"So?" Blair bobbed his head a few times.

Jim sighed. "So you want to name this thing, eh, partner?"

Blair's entire face illuminated with joy. "Cool."

The end.

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