Simon entered the Bullpen carrying a white sack of pastries. It was after five in the morning. The desks were filled with detectives that had heard about the fire through the police grapevine and had decided to come in to help out.

"What do we have?" Simon asked the room at large.

Jim held up a white paper. "All the departments are making their own list. I've added their results to ours."

Simon accepted the list and passed off the bag to Brown. "Here, pass these out and make sure none are left."

While the detectives gathered around to get a taste, Simon read the list out loud. "Three assaults, one hit and run, one rape, one murder and one suicide...Jim, these last two are yours!"

Jim nodded as he carefully wiped the white powder from his mouth with a napkin. "Quite a coincidence, wouldn't you say, Sir?"

"Damn it," Simon muttered under is breath, then scanned the room. "Where's Sandburg?"

"Sleeping in your office," Jim answered.

Simon leveled him with a stern look. "You didn't tie him up or anything, did you Jim?"

Jim shook his head. "I did threaten to, though. He needs more sleep then two hours or he'll never get over this flu," he added in a low voice as he looked around the room. The other detectives had taken their snack back to their desks to work. "He's normally not like that, Simon. I don't know what got in to him at the fire."

Simon lifted his glasses to massage the bridge of he nose. "Funny thing that...about ten minutes after you left, the entire command post had to move back half a block. Seems they have a little hand held box that takes readings of the atmosphere and there was enough toxic crap in the area to send two people to the hospital to get checked out."

Jim dropped to sit on the edge of a nearby desk. "You're kidding. Damn, if Sandburg finds out about that, there'll be no living with him."

"Well, let's get in my office and wake up your guardian angel. I need to hear the rest of the story behind this conspiracy case you're working on."

Blair woke up looking like a refugee from a hairdresser's strike. He tried taming the long strands but finally gave up and simply tied it back. It didn't take long to finish the story about the artificial sweetener that Roget had given them.

"Did they say what caused the fire yet?" Jim asked.

Simon nodded. "They're looking at the origin being near a portable heater. It may have been left on, but it's still early in the investigation."

"Didn't the building have a sprinkler system?" Blair asked. "A lot of Rainier's labs had to have them installed because of all the flammable stuff they store."

"It was sprinkled, but the fire still spread unchecked. They're looking into that as well. It's possible the water pressure failed or the sprinkler heads were blocked."

"Or some unknown persons sabotaged the system so we can't prove that food's being drugged," Blair added.

"We still have the sample that Roget gave us," Jim said, reminding them.

"We just need to figure out a secure place to have it analyzed," Simon said.

"How about the lab at Rainier? I can ask one of my friends," Blair suggested.

"That's a good idea, Chief. You know, someone had to know enough about police procedure to target the lab down the street, Simon. I suggest we officially close Simmons and Alexander's deaths and continue this investigation on our own," Jim suggested.

"We may have no choice. Without that evidence, we don't have a case, period," Simon said, rubbing his eyes. He lightly slapped the desktop and stood. "Okay, I'm kicking everyone that isn't officially on duty out of the office. It's Saturday, there's nothing more we can do. What's burned is burned."

Blair called a friend that promised to run a few tests. But before they left for the labs at Rainier, Jim made a few phone calls of his own. He wanted to make sure the loft was free from any listening devises. The only way he knew how to do that was to cash in a few favors owed him from his days as a Ranger.

By lunchtime, they knew all there was to know about the sweetener.

"That's it," the lab technician told the men. She had worked efficiently for several hours, looking very comfortable in jeans and a white lab coat while Blair watched and Jim thumbed through several old magazines from the teacher's break room.

"I don't get it, Chris," Blair said in confusion. "None of this is that unusual."

Jim joined them at the counter. "What is it?"

Chris tucked a curly brown strand of hair behind her ear. "It's basically the normal stuff you expect to find in a diet sweetener, but this here is out of place. It's organic in nature, but doesn't belong here."

Jim read over the words with their impossible pronunciation, no way was he going to even try saying them out loud. "It's not a poison?"

"Hardly, I'd have to read up on what large doses might do to a person, but people don't spoon this stuff into their mouths. So, no, definitely not a poison." She flipped off her light and started tidying up her work area.

"Thanks, Chris," Blair said warmly.

"No problem, glad to help. I heard about the fire downtown. If the police needs any other help or a lab to work in for a short time, tell them to see me, okay?"

Blair dropped into the sofa with a groan. His head hurt, his stomach was still sending signals to his brain that it wasn't happy, and he was dead tired.

"God, I'm `so' glad we're home."

"You need to eat some lunch and go to sleep," Jim suggested as he locked the door.

Blair closed his eyes without comment. Bed sounded like heaven. He expected to hear sounds of Jim in the kitchen, warming up the left over soup. Instead, he heard the door to his room open.

"Jim?" He sat up and turned to see his roommate enter his small bedroom. "What are you doing?"

"Just a second."

Blair watched as Jim prowled through the entire loft, even the bathroom. A note was stuck to the fridge by a magnet. Blair was certain it hadn't been there when they'd left. Jim picked it up to read. Seemingly satisfied, he opened the door to the old fashion refrigerator and removed the soup.

"Did you find anything?" Blair asked quietly, leaning his head back on the sofa and closing his eyes to rest.

"No, everything looks normal. I had a buddy stop by this morning and sweep the place for bugs, he says it's clean," Jim answered.

"How could he do that? No one was here to let him in."

"He doesn't need a key in his line of work."

"Oh." Blair blinked a few times at the coffee table. Jim had some strange friends.

"You want anything to go with the soup?"

"Whatever, man. You know, I don't understand anything about this case," Blair complained. "Roget gets killed bringing us a sample of sweetener with some extra organic additive in it, but it seems harmless and no one knows what it does. How crazy is that?"

"Monday, I'll start digging around in North Cascade Produce and Evening Star Trucking's background. Maybe something will come up." The clinking sound of bowls and utensils followed by the rustle of a stiff paper came from the kitchen.

Blair relaxed further into the cushions of the sofa. The sleep he got at Simon's place added with the sleep he got at the station added up to less than five hours. Blair's body was not a happy camper and was starting to demand some serious downtime.

"Damn it!"

Blair opened his eyes with a start, twisting his neck to see Jim standing next to the table giving a package of saltine crackers a hostile look. "What's wrong?"

Jim set the crackers down on the table, his eyes locking with Blair's. "The same stuff is all over these crackers."

"What!" Blair was out of the sofa and standing next to his roommate before he realized he'd moved. Jim batted his hand away from the box.

"Jim, I bought these two weeks ago, man!"

"Yeah, I know." Jim's eyes scanned the kitchen. "Let's eat the soup first, I know it's okay, then I want to check every food item in this loft."

After eating, Blair and Jim proceeded to line all the cans, boxes and bags up, filling the table and counters. Blair retrieved a pad and pen from his room in order to document their findings. When they were finished, the results were less than encouraging.

"Unbelievable, man," Blair said tapping his pen on the table as he surveyed the groceries. He looked again at the list of contaminated foods he'd written down. "Crackers, peanut butter, steak sauce, brown sugar, and hot cocoa mix."

Jim pursed his lips and nodded. "The steak sauce has a different scent than the rest, including the sweetener we had tested."

Blair leaned against the table, an idea forming in his head. "What if it's not one chemical involved, but the correct combination of many drugs?" Waving both hands in the air as he spoke. "You could even target a select demographic by picking the right types of foods! Oh, man! Jim, this is amazing!"

"Whoa, slow down, Bill Nye, we still don't know what the drug is doing and you're talking demographics," Jim warned.

"We need to analyze the steak sauce." Blair insisted.

"I have a bigger question," Jim said, raising one eyebrow. "How are they getting this stuff in all these different foods? Think about it, different companies, purchased over the last several months. Hell, that brown sugar has been in the loft longer than you have and we just now opened it."

"Oh my gosh, Jim. You're right!" Blair pulled a chair out and sat. "We must be missing something, man."

"Like what?"

"Well, this all started with Beth Simmers murder, right?"

"Yeah, and both her and John Alexander work for a company that distributes food."

"Right! All types of food," Blair said with enthusiasm. "And Roget was in trucking. I'll bet they transported food too. So the drugs are being added to the food during the shipping phase, before it gets to the stores but after it's produced."

"Possible..." Jim agreed with a single nod. "But now we're back to the question of `why'."

"Yeah," Blair said, looking down at the tainted food. "I'm clueless. It's been going on for at least a year and we haven't been reading about a rash of mysterious deaths." "It's going to take some serious effort to try all the combinations and see what it does. It's a good bet there other chemicals, organic and inorganic, that we don't even know about yet." Jim mused; pinching his lower lip at he studied the table of food.

"Why haven't you noticed the chemicals before now?" Blair wondered.

Jim shrugged. "Didn't know what to look for, I guess. It's a faint scent. I'd probably write it off as being stale or something."

Blair eyed the food items. "None of this makes any sense to me."

"Okay, enough for now," Jim declared. "We'll get the steak sauce checked out by your friend on Monday, if we can. Meanwhile, help me get this stuff back in the cupboards. We'll box up the contaminated stuff and store it in the evidence locker at the station."

"Hold it, Jim. We need to be careful, man. We already know they're watching us, whoever `they' are. If we're seen carting this stuff down to the station, we're tipping our hand."

Jim paused, giving Blair an appreciative look. "Good point, I should have thought of that. Okay, let's just box it up and store it in the closet for now. And another thing, you don't take a bite of anything or drink any liquid unless I check it out first, got it?"

"Oh yeah, man. That's a given!"

The rest of the day and all of Sunday passed without incident, a major relief for Blair, who spend most of his time on the couch or asleep in his room. Blair made another appointment with Chris to have the steak sauce checked out, she wasn't available until Tuesday. Sunday afternoon, Jim made Blair join him on a trip to the grocery store to pick up a few supplies: bread, eggs and crackers. Nothing had the chemical scent when they opened the food items upon arriving home.

On Monday, Blair woke feeling normal but weak, the flu had run its course. Moving quickly, he snagged the first shower. When he emerged from the bathroom with in a cloud of steam, Jim was in the kitchen fixing breakfast.

"Morning, Jim."

"Sandburg. How do you want your eggs?"

"As far away from me as possible, man. I'll just make an algae shake."

Jim turned with a frown on his face. "You need real food if you're---"

"Jim! I'm fine! All better. If you don't stop shoving food down my throat, I'm gonna need a whole new set of clothes." Blair softened the comment with an easy grin. He wasn't a sentinel, but he could hear Jim's harrumph from his room.

After breakfast, Blair headed for the front door to find Jim already waiting for him, keys in hand.

"I'm dropping you off today," Jim explained as if the fact was already a forgone conclusion. "I'll meet you for lunch."

Only Blair's years of self discipline prevented him from rolling is eyes. He decided to count himself lucky that Jim was letting him go to school today.

"You know, Jim," Blair said in a low voice, leading the way down to the parking lot. "You're the one that's in danger here."

"I'll make sure to stay with Simon or one of the guys all day. You do the same, Chief." Jim started the Ford and backed out of the stall. He briefly glanced at Blair. "I'm serious, stay in groups and keep your guard up."

"Hey, I have office hours! I can't have a party in there while I work with my students."

"Hold them in the library, you've done that before."

"Only when the maintenance men kicked me out to work on the radiator."

They arrived at Rainier with the agreement that Blair's office hours could be in his office, but with the door open. Blair had a new mantra he was repeating over and over in his head to keep him from becoming very pissed at his overprotective roommate.

`He's a sentinel, he's protecting the tribe.'

"Thanks for the lift, big guy," Blair said, proud of himself for keeping any hint of irritation out of his voice.

Jim turned off the engine and opened his door. They were parked in the no parking zone. Jim flipped down Blair's sun visor that displayed the sign `Official Police Business'.

"What are you doing?"

"Walking you to class, Einstein."

`HE'S A SENTINEL! HE'S PROTECTING THE...'

Oh, bag it!

"Jim, you are `so' the control freak! Have I ever mentioned that to you?" Blair snapped as he slammed the door.

Jim gave his friend a patient look as he skirted the Ford and walked with Blair towards the building. "What's your point, Sandburg?"

Soon Blair was submerged in the world of academia, happily teaching, grading, and working on his lecture notes. Half way through the morning, the phone rang. He picked it up on the first ring.

"Hello, Jim."

"Very funny, Chief. How's it going?"

"Good, man. Total normality happening here. How's the station? Anything on the fire yet?"

"I'll tell you at lunch. Should I bring it or do you want to go somewhere?"

"Whatever, either's fine with me."

"See you at noon."

Just as Blair finished hanging up, he heard a light knock on the door. Since the door was already open - per Jim's instructions - Blair could easily see the stranger standing in his doorway.

"Yes? May I help you?"

"You're Blair Sandburg, right?"

The man looked about Blair's own age. His body language told Blair the stranger was not comfortable on a college campus. His eyes darted nervously down the hallway in both directions. He shifted from foot to foot as he waited for confirmation.

"Yeah, that's me? How can I help you?" Blair knew people; he liked to believe he knew which ones were friendly and which were hostile. Jim always warned him to be suspicious of everyone, but that wasn't Blair's way.

"I need to talk to you."

"Come in." Before Blair could say anything else, the man was inside and the door was closed.

Blair sized him up, re-evaluating his decision that this man was no threat. He was thin, a few inches taller than Blair. His straw colored hair was straight and fell over his high forehead almost to his eyes. Spots of acne decorated his chin and jaws, making him seem younger than he probably really was. His baggy pants and loose sweatshirt hung on his frame like they belonged to someone else and didn't want to be there.

"Sit down. What's up, man?" Blair knew he'd never seen this man before on campus.

"You live with that cop, right? He's investigating North Cascade Produce?" Acne Face leaned forward in his chair, his eyes bright.

Blair scratched his ear before answering. Great! Jim was going to have a fit about this. "Well, he did mention something about that, but I think he said the case is closed now."

"Sure, that's what they want you to believe."

Oh, boy. Here we go again.

"What do you mean?"

Before the stranger could answer, an ear piercing, high-pitched tone filed the room. Strobe lights in the hallway started flashing on the glass window on Blair's door. Acne Face jumped as if jabbed by a spear.

"What's that!?"

Blair held up a hand to calm him. "It's just the fire alarm," he shouted over the noise, grabbing his backpack and waving his hand towards the door.

"Come on. We can find a quiet place to talk outside."

Acne Face rose hesitantly, looking slightly confused but following Blair into the hallway. The crowd of evacuating students and teachers swept them along like leaves in a river current. Blair let himself be jostled towards the stairwell. The students chatted among themselves, joking and teasing each other as they walked.

Just as Blair squeezed through the double doorway toward the stairs, a strong arm circled his torso. A large hand clamped over his mouth as he was yanked backwards into the dark alcove under the stairs. Feeling a solid form against his back, Blair judged his assailant to be big.

"Relax, Chief."

Relief flooded his body as he caught a sideways glimpse of Jim looking out at the mass of students, his head tilted as if listening. Not an easy feat for the man, Blair knew, since the fire alarm was still blaring throughout the building. Jim's control must be getting better. Jim glanced down at Blair and turned him loose.

"What are you doing, man? Trying to give me a heart attack?"

"Just thought I'd give the fire department something to do. Come on." Jim tugged Blair toward the stairs.

The stairwell was thinning out now, most of the students had already evacuated. Blair looked around for the straw haired man that was in his office. He was nowhere to be seen.

"Wait. I had a guy with me."

"I know. That's one of the reasons I pulled the alarm," Jim admitted quietly, continuing to tow him along. "I'll explain in the Ford."

Blair followed numbly behind. Jim pulled the fire alarm? Why? What was Jim doing here anyway? How did he know about Acne Face in the office?

They were outside now. The Ford was parked in the same spot that Jim had left it that morning. Groups of students milled around on the lawn or headed down towards the parking lot. The day had warmed up a little, once again proving the weatherman wrong.

Blair ignored all this as he let Jim pull him by the arm towards the Expedition. He continued to turn the questions over in his mind, until he finally realized the obvious.

"You never left! You've been---"

"Quiet, Sandburg," Jim ordered sternly.

Out of the corner of his eye, Blair caught a glimpse of straw colored hair. He took a step to his left, pulling Jim off balance for a moment.

"Wait, man! There he is. We really want to talk to this guy, he---"

A sharp pain stabbed his back, right between the shoulder blades. Blair lurched forward, planting his nose into Jim's jacket. He felt Jim's arms circle him, keeping him from falling to his knees in the grass.

"Sandburg!"

Opening his eyes, Blair got a close up view of Jim's jacket zipper. His back was numb now, the sharp pain diminishing to a throbbing ache, as the numbness spread throughout his body in every direction. Before he could form a coherent reply, a small metal dart with a bright red tail appeared inches from his nose, buried to the hilt in Jim's jacket.

"No..." Jim muttered, stumbling backwards with Blair still in his arms.

Blair struggled to stand. He could feel Jim's hold weakening. The numbness was inching up his neck now, deadening the nerves as it went along. The strap from his backpack slipped out of his fingers to land in the grass. Just before Blair closed his eyes, he had a strange desire to laugh.

They both should have stayed in the loft today.

Small hammers had some how gotten into Jim's brain, hard at work on some remodeling project. The pounding was relentless, causing him to rise from his drugged sleep. With a groan, he tried rubbing his head, anything to relieve the pain, but both hands refused to move.

"Your head will feel better presently, Mr. Ellison."

Jim opened his eyes, just enough to get a look at the person speaking. The room was softly lit; in the corner, a single lamp with a heavy shade in the corner gave a reddish glow. He shifted his vision down. He was strapped to some sort of exam table.

Shit!

Memories slammed into his consciousness: listening in on the man in Blair's office, hearing the conversation down the hall by two unknown persons ready to kidnap Blair as soon as the visitor was able to get him outside, Jim calling Simon and then pulling the fire alarm. It had worked, for a while. They were almost to the SUV before the first dart hit Blair in the back.

"What..." Jim's mouth was dry. The rest of the words scraped up his throat and dragged to a halt before coming out.

"Here."

A hand lifted his head and relief flowed into his mouth. Before Jim could process the likelihood that the water was drugged, his mouth swallowed it down.

"Better?"

"What have you done with Sandburg?" Jim asked.

Setting the cup down, the man crossed over to a leather office chair and sat, still staying within Jim's range of vision. Jim gave him a quick study. He was older, maybe in his fifties. His expensive suit tailored to highlight the fact the man still worked out and was in excellent condition. Dark hair and tan skin, he looked like a poster boy for a senior GQ magazine spread.

"Mr. Sandburg stepped into the path of the dart meant for you. I'm afraid he's still unconscious. You got his dart, even so, you're waking up ahead of schedule," GQ said.

Jim could pick up a slight accent as the man spoke, European most likely. His head was feeling better. Jim took the opportunity to scan the room again. It was a cross between a plush office and a laboratory of some type, giving Jim the impression he'd woken up to a remake of `Frankenstein'. The leather chair that GQ sat in was next to an antique desk, gleaming from decades of oil rubs. The two far walls were covered with oak bookcases, filled with personal treasures as well as medical textbooks. On Jim's side of the room, two counters formed an `L' shape, with Jim paralleling the longer wall. An IV stand stood ready to hook up, bottles and jars were visible though the glass doors on the upper cabinets.

GQ stood and walked over to a deep stainless steel sink with a high neck faucet and carefully started to wash his hands as he spoke.

"So you see, you continue to intrigue me, Mr. Ellison. You don't react as you should to the tranquilizer, you somehow smelled the poison on the envelope and you picked up the drug in the scotch glass."

"Why burn down the lab? Destroying the evidence? A little extreme isn't it?" Jim asked, testing the straps around his wrists and ankles, another larger strap crossed his chest. He was dressed in the same clothes he'd been taken in, minus his jacket.

"Well, my colleagues like to `cover their ass', I believe you like to say here. You Americans are nothing if not crass. But you do spend money." GQ's hands seemed to pass his careful inspection. Ripping a paper towel from a dispenser over the sink, he turned to study Jim, leaning a hip against the counter as he dried his hands.

"And you think kidnapping a cop and his roommate will help your cover-up?" Jim asked coolly. As long as GQ was talking, he was willing to ask questions.

"Well, to be honest with you. Taking you two was all my idea. I'm keeping this little development from them for now. They seem to think you're just a man with a good nose, but I'm not so sure."

Jim remained silent. Okay, this guy was acting without instruction. If he could take Mr. GQ down, he and Blair should be safe. Easy plan, once he could figure out a way to get out of these damn straps.

"Well, then. Let's get started." GQ approached Jim with a hypodermic needle and a rubber tourniquet.

Jim took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He could do this.

The only thing that made the exam bearable was the pause between each stage. GQ drew blood and disappeared through the door for ten minutes. Jim used the time to extend his hearing as far as he dared. Sounds of someone on the keyboard, small motors running and two men making small talk about the fishing in Mexico did nothing to tell him where Blair was located. His hearing seemed to fall short. He could hear down the hallway or a few rooms over, but that was it. Was it the drug still in his system? Or the fact that Blair wasn't near to help.

GQ returned with a large ECG machine and hooked Jim up to twelve leads, studied the electrical output from his heart, printing several long strips while making notes in the margins.

GQ examined his eyes, ears and mouth in such detail that Jim wanted to scream. After each inspection, the man would return to his desk and make several pages of handwritten notes. Time seemed to crawl by.

Suddenly, Jim's ears picked up a familiar voice.

"Jim's here...gonna see him...right?"

It was Blair and he sounded drunk. Jim tracked the sounds. Blair was coming closer. Another set of footprints walked with him. Jim purposefully kept his eyes averted from the door.

The door opened and a large tower of muscle propelled Blair into the room. Blair was dangling by a punishing grip on his upper right arm, his legs acting like wet noodles being trained to walk. Blair's head was in a tilt, as if gravity and neck muscles were fighting for control. Gravity won. Blair's eyes searched the room, finding Jim on the table.

"Doctor? You wanted him when he woke up?" the tower of walking muscle asked.

GQ turned in surprise. "My goodness, he's already awake? Can he talk?"

"'Course I can talk, man. I'm a teacher..." Blair muttered, his head lolling on his neck.

"Very good. Mr. Sandburg, do you know this man?" GQ pointed at Jim with a manicured hand.

"Yeeesssss. That's Jim. Hi, Jim!" Blair raised his left hand and attempted a wave, but failed to lift it higher than his belt.

"What did you give him?" Jim demanded.

GQ raised an eyebrow as he studied the younger man. "Nothing, he must be having a reaction to the dart. It's not uncommon."

The man holding Blair looked like he could support Blair's weight all day without a complaint, but GQ seemed to have other ideas.

"Put him in my chair."

Blair was dropped into the chair with a small bounce. GQ ignored Jim and pulled a short metal stool over to sit in front of Blair.

"Mr. Sandburg, how are you feeling?"

"Not sooo good. You a doctor?"

"Yes I am." GQ was pouring on the charm now.

"Good, I'm Blair." Blair leaned forward and dropped his voice to a whisper. "We got kidnapped, me and Jim." He sat back in the chair with a nod.

"Really? Well, you're safe now. I have a few questions for you now, okay?"

Blair tilted his head as his eyes drifted to the right to see Jim on the table. "Safe? Then why is Jim strapped down?"

"I'm just making sure he's okay. Can you tell me about Jim's sense of smell?"

"Smell? Jim doesn't smell. He takes a shower every day. I should know. I live under the stairs."

"No, his `ability' to smell. He can smell things the rest of us can't smell. How does he do that?"

Blair blinked at the man, his face blank.

"Blair, I've read your work. I know you've studied sentinels. Is Jim a sentinel?"

From his position on the table, Jim was able to see the slight twitch in Blair's right hand and hear his heart speed up. Otherwise, Blair remained the same, like a person still under the effect of the drug. With sudden clarity, Jim realized Blair was faking the reaction, biding his time and hoping for a break. Jim sent a quick prayer towards the heavens to keep his guide from getting himself killed.

"Sentinel? Like Burton's Book? Nah, he's just a guy that lets me ride along." Blair yawned, interrupting himself. "I'm writing my diss on the thin blue line."

"Thin blue line?" GQ sat up with a puzzled face, giving the mountain of a man standing next to Blair a look. "What is that?"

Mountain shrugged his massive shoulders.

"It's a study on the sub-cultures within the police department," Jim said with a condescending tone. "I can't believe you kidnapped us based on a grad student's paper written just to get a decent grade!"

GQ turned towards Jim with a frown. "You displayed higher than average abilities!"

"I'm a COP! It's called `investigating' a case!" Jim exclaimed with feeling. "This is ludicrous!"

GQ started to waiver, but before he could respond, a loud klaxon sounded. GQ reacted immediately, jumping to his feet and grabbing the phone on his desk. He punched in two numbers.

"What is it?!"

Jim turned his hearing up, catching part of the conversation.

"...Are here! We're surrounded!"

GQ muttered a curse as he slammed the phone down. "Kill that one, bring this one, we may need a hostage," he commanded before disappearing through the door.

Muscles yanked Blair to his feet with enough strength to dislocate a shoulder, his right hand reaching into his jacket. He gave Jim a toothy grin.

"I'll make it quick, buddy. Single shot to the head, you'll never feel it."

Jim watched Blair's legs go limp, Muscles' grip slipped, allowing Blair to sag, his knees bent and head drooped so far over his ear touched his shoulder. Muscles needed both hands to readjust his hold on Blair.

Blair made his move. Reaching out and capturing the metal stool with his right hand, he swung it in a wide arc directly into Muscles' face, hitting him across the nose with a solid metal leg. The loud crack echoed in the room. Muscles released Blair's arm with a bellow, both hands flying to his broken nose as blood poured down his face. Blair followed the attack by lifting his right knee and `bulls eyed' the big man's groin with enough force to cause even Jim to wince in sympathy.

Muscles made a strangled noise and dropped like a ton of brinks, unconscious before his head hit the ground. Blair took a second to reach down and pull an automatic from the thug's waistband before stumbling over to Jim's table.

"You okay?" he mumbled.

Jim found himself able to breathe again. Did he just see Blair take out a mountain-sized man with a stool? "Are `you' okay?" Jim returned the same question.

Blair was fumbling with the large buckle, too busy to answer. Jim felt the band loosen, allowing him to take a deep breath. A few moments later, both arms were free and Jim was sitting up. He unbuckled his right ankle while Blair worked on his left.

"I'm fine," Blair answered.

Swinging his legs over the side and slipping off the exam table, Jim picked up the automatic from the end of the bed and checked to make sure the clip was full and a round in the chamber. Blair leaned against the table, his body gently weaving side to side. Jim rethought his original idea. Maybe Blair wasn't entirely acting with GQ.

"Can you walk?"

"Yeah," Blair said, swallowing hard. "You mind if I follow? My head is really spinning here."

Jim chuckled to himself. "Here, latch on. Only this time, we're going forward." He took Blair's right hand and guided it to his back. He waited until he felt Blair's fingers circle around his belt.

Before towing Blair to the door, he detoured to the desk and picked up the ledger GQ had written his findings in. Jim had no desire to see that land in the wrong hands, which in this case was any hand other than Blair's. He paused to listen before opening the door. A full stage of panic sounded from multiple areas in the building, but the hallway was clear.

"Ready?"

"And able, man."

Jim opened the door enough to take a peek, finding it deserted. They closed the door behind them as they left. The hallway looked like thousands of other passageways Jim had walked down, closed doors on either side, florescent lights recessed in the suspended ceiling. Jim turned to his left, towards the quieter of the two directions. Shouts and gunfire erupted suddenly, seeming to come from all directions.

"Damn."

"What's wrong?"

"GQ is on his way back. He's looking you, he wants a hostage."

"GQ? Oh, you mean the old guy playing twenty questions. What are we gonna do?" Blair asked, checking over his shoulder.

Jim took a deep breath and considered their options. He checked the closest door. It was locked. Sounds of fighting were coming from both directions and he didn't want to return to the room they'd just left. Can't go forward, same thing happening behind them, Jim let his eyes drift upward.

"I've got an idea." Standing on his toes, Jim was able to reach the tile above his head and slide it to the side, revealing the structural supports of the roof as well as pipes, heating ducts and cables. Jim knew that interior walls often times did not reach all the way to the building's roof. The open area above the suspended ceiling allowed the contractors to run the necessary plumping and wiring needed in a commercial building without having to breach walls. Turning to Blair, he formed a step with both hands and leaned his back against the wall. "When you get above the grid, get over the wall. It'll hold our weight."

"The ceiling?" Blair asked in amazement, quickly placing his foot in Jim's hands. "You're coming too, right?"

"Yep, we'll just stay out of the way on this one," Jim said with a grunt, hoisting Blair into the ceiling.

Blair quickly disappeared into the dark space. After getting situated, he stretched his hand down, reaching out toward Jim.

"Ready?"

"I got `cha, man. Go for it."

Jim leaped for the top of the interior wall, grasping his roommate's hand and the edge of the wall with the other hand as his momentum and strength carried him up. He twisted, ending up perched on the wall. Quickly pulling his legs up, Blair replaced the ceiling tile.

Fifteen seconds later, several footsteps were heard, running down the hallway. Blair and Jim remained still as the fight between GQ's employees and the police raged. Jim tracked the progress with his hearing, knowing GQ's days were numbered. He could hear Simon's voice as it resounded like thunder over multiple radios. More gunfire echoed in the corridor below. He prayed they wouldn't catch a stray bullet.

After several long minutes, the sounds of battle diminished. Jim put a hand on Blair's ankle in a silent command to stay still. A roll call was being performed now. Jim listened as each unit answered the SWAT leader's call, feeling a rush of relief when the report came back that all officers were accounted for.

Blair shifted.

"Stay still, Chief," Jim whispered.

Sounds of door-to-door searches told Jim they were doing a final sweep. It took time, nearly half an hour to conduct the search. Jim wasn't going to risk the chance of walking into a gunfight between a group of armed bad guys and the police at this stage of the rescue. It was better to just wait it out.

Finally, just about the time Jim thought it might be okay to come out from their hiding place, a familiar pattern of footsteps headed directly for the spot under the two men.

"Jim?"

Jim pulled the ceiling tile up to peer down onto the head of his captain. Simon was standing directly beneath him, holding a small black box in his hand. Jim recognized the instrument immediately.

"Thanks for the rescue, Sir."

Simon tilted his head back in surprise as Jim pulled the tile all the way up, setting it to lie on top of the adjacent tile.

"Are you okay? Where's Sandburg?"

"Here, Simon." Blair's head appeared next to Jim's.

"Can you help Sandburg down, Simon? He's still drugged."

"I'm fine, Jim." Blair had his legs over the edge now, but seemed hesitant to jump.

Simon caught the look in the younger man's face and held up a hand. "Wait, Sandburg," he ordered, turning down the hallway. "Hey! Some help over here?"

Two men appeared wearing all black SWAT gear. Together the three eased Blair out of the ceiling to stand unsteadily on his feet. Jim dropped down beside him, quickly taking an arm to anchor his friend. Simon took hold of the other arm.

"Sorry it took me so long to find you Jim, the Feds and BPD wanted a thorough sweep before they'd let me enter," Simon explained as he started walking Blair and Jim down the hallway.

"BPD?" Jim asked.

"Bellevue Police department."

Blair stopped and regarded Simon in amazement. "Bellevue? We're in Bellevue? How'd they get us here so fast?"

Simon patted Blair's arm. "Sandburg, it's Tuesday morning."

"Tuesday?" Blair parroted.

Jim felt the smaller man rock on his feet. "Okay, let's get you out of here. We can get the entire story once the drugs have worn off."

Simon led them down two flights of stairs and into a posh lobby with the look of a five star hotel. Honey colored wood and gold accented the area. A virtual tropical rainforest grew in the center of the large room complete with a large pond and waterfall. Jim read the hand carved wood sign behind a reception-style desk.

`Free World Advertising Agency.'

They passed men and women in full tactical gear and headed through large glass double doors into the rainy morning. The sunlight weakly filtered through the rain clouds.

Blair stopped as they got outside; taking a look at the large parking lot filled with police cars, SWAT vans and large HazMat trucks. He freed his arms. "I'm okay, guys. The fresh air is helping."

"Take it slow, Sandburg," Jim warned, watching as a group of men in suits broke away from a command post and headed for them.

"Did I mention the Feds are involved in this?" Simon stage whispered.

"Simon, take this," Jim whispered back, handing his boss the notebook he'd taken from GQ's desk. "Keep it out of sight."

They used Blair's body to block the view of the transfer. Simon slipped the notebook into an inner pocket, his face showing no sign of the transaction. Jim had to hide a smile; his boss would make a great drug dealer.

"Ellison? Sandburg?" The lead man didn't wait for confirmation from the two. With a flick of his hand, federal agents surrounded Jim and Blair on all sides.

"Please step this way." A grim looking man in sunglasses gently took Jim's elbow and began to pull him forward, herding them towards the two black sedans parked, their doors open and waiting. As Simon moved to follow, one of the suits blocked his path.

"I'm their captain. I go with my men," Simon protested as he tried to step around the man.

The Fed move quickly, continuing to block his way. A second Fed joined in the human barricade. "I'm sorry, sir. Our orders are to only bring in Ellison and Sandburg."

Jim looked back over a shoulder as he allowed himself to be guided away. "It's okay, Simon, just take care of that matter for me, please."

"Jim, what's happening?" Blair whispered as he walked next to his friend.

"That's a good question, Chief. Any of you gentlemen want to explain what's happening here?" Jim asked their escorts.

"We're taking you somewhere safe, sirs," a shorter man answered.

"Okay, can you answer this? Which agency are you with?"

"Federal Bureau of Investigation."

"Ah, that explains the sunglasses," Jim quipped with a straight face.

Both cars had engines running and drivers inside ready to go. Blair's Fed took a step towards the far vehicle, pulling the younger man along. Blair turned to Jim, a flash of fear ghosting over his face.

Jim reacted instantaneously. Grabbing Blair's elbow, he turned to the short Fed. "We travel together. Got that? No separate vehicles, no games, no crap or I make a huge stink right here. I'd be willing to bet if push came to shove, there would be more city cops then federal agents, making you guys the losers."

The short agent looked like he was ready to go toe to toe over the issue, but an older agent standing quietly in the group held out a restraining hand. "Stand down, Frank. Let them ride together."

Frank took a step back, shooting Jim a spiteful glance. Wordlessly he turned and slid into the front seat, letting the older agent sit in the back with Jim and Blair.

With a curt nod to the older agent, Jim settled into the middle of the back seat, letting Blair have the window. Blair looked nervous as three doors slammed shut and the driver hit the lock button on all the doors.

"Shit, Jim. I thought this was a rescue," Blair muttered for Jim's ears only as the vehicle pulled away from the curb.

The city of Bellevue was located on the shore of Lake Washington, due east of Seattle. Both cities are connected by a floating bridge, one of two that crosses the large fresh water lake. Multi-million dollar homes graced the shores on both sides, with private docks that guarded expensive waterskiing boats.

Blair gazed gloomily at one of the boats as the car drove west towards Seattle. What were the monthly payments on one of those? Something told him the boat alone would pay off a couple of his student loans. Blair doubted he had enough money in the bank to fill its gas tank.

He shivered. Damn, he was cold. Was this a reaction of the tranquilizer dart or the frosty atmosphere in the car? Blair wasn't sure how Jim had sensed his panic when the Fed tried to separate them, but he was glad the big guy put his foot down. He knew the drug must still be in his system. It was too hard to think. His memories were like a movie being played out of focus. Without realizing it, he sighed, causing Jim to give him a hard look. Blair continued to stare out the window, not minding that his partner was using his senses to check his vitals.

They were off the bridge now and going through a tunnel under some old looking houses. Soon they were in downtown Seattle with its narrow streets, reminding Blair of San Francisco the way they descended down the steep hill towards the waterfront. A few minutes later they pulled into a parking garage and up to a secured gate that required a special card to allow entrance. After parking, the two friends were whisked up several floors in an elevator and taken to a large empty conference room to sit.

Blair guessed they were at some type of headquarters for Feds, but he wasn't sure. All the movies showed a lot of people walking in corridors and young men and women typing at keyboards. This place was empty hallways and closed doors. So where were they? The conference room they had been left in was bare except for a conference table and some wooden chairs.

Blair dropped into a chair and wrapped his arms tight around his chest.

"Cold?" Jim asked, taking the chair next to him.

"Freezing," Blair said.

The door opened up and a white haired man entered, followed by two younger people; a tall black woman and a heavy built Caucasian male. Blair stood when Jim did and the older man gave them both a warm smile and extended his hand to Jim.

"Mr. Ellison. Mr. Sandburg." He dropped Jim's hand and reached for Blair's. "I'm so pleased you both are all right. I'm Nathan Pierce, Assistant Director with the FBI." He turned toward the other two new arrivals. "Agents Romberg and Volz."

Blair followed Jim's lead and just nodded at the other two agents. Pierce pulled a chair out and sat. "Let's consider this chat an unofficial debriefing, shall we? Please have a seat."

Jim stood with his back straight, arms crossed over his chest as he leveled the man with an angry look. "We have a totally different description for debriefing where I come from, sir."

"Excuse me?"

Jim leaned across the table towards the seated man, planting both hands palm down on the table. "Sandburg and I were kidnapped, then drugged and transported across county lines. Since our release we have not been given medical care, not allowed to contact parties that would be worried about our safety, not offered any fluids or even a lousy blanket for that matter. So I wouldn't call this a debriefing, I'd say we went from one kidnapping to the next."

The room became silent enough to hear a lawsuit drop. Blair managed to keep his face calm, mostly because Jim just made him realized he was thirsty `and' he needed to call the University post haste. What was he thinking? Who had taught his classes yesterday and this morning?

Pierce stood slowly, suddenly an old man, older then when he'd first walked into the room. "Angela, call down and have lunch brought up for this two men, tell Richards to bring his medical bag to my office and rustle up a couple of blankets. We'll be taking this meeting to my office. And tell Frank I want him to wait for me right here. I'll be back to see him in a few hours. He's not to budge from his chair until I arrive. Understood?"

The woman nodded and left to carry out his order.

"Gentlemen, this way please." He extended his hand towards the door. "My office has an outside line you can use."

Blair found himself leading the short parade down the hallway and back into the elevator. Pierce pushed the number eight button and the car lifted. The ascent gave Blair a feeling of vertigo and before he realized he'd tilted, Jim had him by the arm.

"Chief?"

"It's okay, man," Blair whispered. "Just got dizzy for a second."

Pierce's office was nice. The carpet was the type that allowed your feet to sink in as you walked. A nice collection of framed duck stamp prints adorned one wall. The furnishing reminded Blair of Simon's office. A large window showed Seattle's waterfront. The gray clouds hung low in the sky, meeting the water with a mix of colors that blurred the horizon. A large container ship was leaving port, heading out into the inlets that led to the ocean.

A gentle pressure from his partner steered Blair towards the sofa. Spotting a partially open door to a bathroom, Blair realized he had another matter to take care off.

"Uh...Jim?" Blair pointed towards the small room.

"Is it okay if we use your restroom?" Jim asked Pierce.

"Certainly, in fact I need to get a file. Please feel free to use the phone, dial nine to get out." Pierce and company left, closing the door behind them.

Blair finished his business while listening to Jim through the door as he talked with Simon on the phone. From the sounds of the conversation, Simon was somewhere close, trying to get access to his men. Blair smiled at his reflection in the small mirror as he washed his hands and remembered Simon's last statement; he had referred to Jim `and' Blair as his men.

Cool.

Blair splashed a few handfuls of cold water into his face in an attempt to clear the cobwebs from his head. Whatever drug was in that dart was hard to shake. He didn't have this much trouble with the stuff Lash had given him in that warehouse. Blair suppressed a shudder at the unwelcome memory. Time to think about something else, he decided firmly.

Making a lame attempt to try and control his naturally curly hair before giving up, Blair entered the office as Jim hung up the phone. The sofa was calling his name and he sank into its deep cushions with a moan.

"We got a few blankets delivered, wrap up," Jim said heading for the empty bathroom.

A cart of food was delivered. The sight of the sandwiches and fruit caused Blair's stomach to grumble and he reached for the glass of orange juice.

"Take it slow, Sandburg! We don't know how the drug is going to make you react with food in your gut," Jim called out from the bathroom.

Before Blair could answer, the door opened again and Simon walked in looking like an angry grizzly bear. He stood in the office, his unlit cigar clamped in his teeth as he studied Blair.

"Hey Jim, Simon found us!"

Jim entered, giving his boss a nod and reaching for the second glass of juice. "You get that little matter taken care of for me?"

"No problem, Jim," Simon promised looking both men over from head to toe. "You guys all right?"

"Sure, they're even feeding us. Jim did his `pissed off Ranger' act and made the head honcho bring us to his own office and warm up." Blair leaned towards Simon with a crooked grin. "I think Frank is in a world of hurt, though, they may revoke his Foster Grant privileges."

Simon shot Jim a puzzled look. "Uh, huh."

For some reason Jim felt is necessary to push the cart away from Blair. Placing a hand on Blair's shoulder, he leaned over to place a throw pillow at the end of the sofa. "Let's rest for a minute, Chief."

"I want more juice, Jim," Blair protested, finding himself on his side, head on the pillow. Simon was lifting his feet onto the sofa while Jim covered him with a blanket. "No fair, man. Why is my head still buzzing and you're all normal-ish?"

"Normal-ish? You making words up now, Darwin?" Jim teased as he arranged the cover to his sentinel satisfaction. "As usual, you managed to get in the way of the bad guys. You ended up with my tranq dart yesterday and I got yours."

"Great..." Blair mumbled, suddenly finding this new position very comfortable as his eyelids closed instantly. "Just my luck... I get hit with the Wonder Burger eaters economy size..."

"Shut up and rest, Chief."

But Blair was already asleep.

When Pierce returned a few moments later with the doctor and saw the situation, the meeting was moved into the adjoining conference room while the doctor carefully looked Sandburg over without waking him.

Jim took a seat at the table and kept one ear tuned to the activity in the office. Simon sat at his right, with Pierce and the two agents he'd introduced in his first meeting flanking each side.

"Do you want to eat first, Detective?" Pierce asked.

"No, I'll last for a few more minutes," Jim said. He'd brought the juice with him to sip.

"Fine, we're still getting reports from Bellevue, which we'll share with both of you. Please understand that this is an ongoing investigation, however, so I'll have to ask you not to repeat it. I've looked over both your files and trust you know enough about the importance of keeping the facts within this room," Pierce said, opening a file. "Do you have any idea why someone would find it necessary to boldly kidnap you and your roommate in the middle of a crowded college campus?"

Jim sipped his juice, giving him a moment to think. Pierce seemed okay, but he was far from trusting any fed with his sentinel secrets. "During the investigation of Simmon's murder, we discovered she'd been poisoned by the glue from an ordinary office envelope, she apparently licked it, getting the poison on her tongue. I think the killers or killer wanted to ask us how we made the connection."

"And how did you make that connection?"

Jim glanced at the ceiling for a second. "It was just a fluke. Sandburg noticed the stack of sealed envelopes and no obvious way to wet them. Since she was too young for a heart condition and we had no trauma, I had the lab test them."

"Mr. Sandburg sounds like an interesting young man. Why is he working with you? I understand he's a teacher at a university."

Simon took the ball. "He is. He applied for a `ride-a-long permit', something about researching a paper on closed societies. I partnered him with Jim."

Pierce regarded both men for a few seconds, his face unreadable. "He must be a real asset to your department."

"He is," Jim returned.

Pierce nodded, then turned to Jim. "So why would you have the foresight to carry tracking devises on your persons? We checked with your department, they're unaware of any on going undercover operation."

"The trackers were mine. I borrowed them from a friend," Jim explained, before Simon could come up with anything. It was time to give the Assistant Director a little more of the truth, Jim decided, scratching his head. "When Sandburg was drugged and our lab in Cascade was burned. I wanted a backup in case one of us turned up missing."

"I see," Pierce said, his eyes going back to the report in front of him. He looked like a man that was struggling with a decision. The room became quiet as they waited for Pierce's ruling.

Jim expected to see him shut down and close up shop, pull out the traditional song and dance about `need to know basis' and the three men could drive back to Cascade. Federal agencies rarely trust the local cops with much if any information.

Jim already had his mind made up; they'd be going back to Cascade today. Hopefully Simon had a vehicle.

"This is what we have on the organization we believe is responsible for taking you and your partner." Pierce slid the file across the table. Jim noted the look of guarded surprise on the two other FBI agents faces.

Well, what do you know? Just when Jim had the guy pegged as a typical agent, he goes and shows a little backbone.

Blair woke. He blinked at the ceiling for a minute. Strangely enough, he didn't have the normal feeling of `where am I?' to work his way through. He remembered he was on the FBI guy's couch, but when had he fallen asleep?

"Jim?" Blair said quietly, just in case.

He heard voices nearby, Jim's clearly audible.

"I think I'll eat that sandwich now and check on Sandburg."

More mumbling and suddenly Jim appeared.

"Hey, partner. How ya feeling?"

"Starving," Blair said, sitting up and swinging his feet to the floor. He glanced down, relieved when he saw that someone, Jim no doubt, had taken off his shoes. Blair couldn't be sure, but there had to be a rule against getting an Assistant Director's leather sofa dirty. Federal agencies had rules for everything.

Jim pulled the food cart over and took a seat next to his partner. "Head feeling better?"

"Yeah, what's going on?" He reached for a banana.

Jim set a plate of cubed cheese between them and bit into a sandwich. "Pierce is showing me and Simon their case on Free World Advertising," he said around a mouthful of sandwich.

"That's the building we were being held in, right?" Blair peeled the banana.

"Yep, they got some photos from the scene. The guy that was examining me resisted arrest, ended up getting killed."

"Wow, any of the good guys hurt?" Blair asked, biting into the fruit.

"One sprained ankle. Apparently the FDA had a few unrelated reports of extra ingredients being found in some foods. They found each food had been handled by North Cascade Food, but the trail stopped there."

"What was added to the food?" The banana was gone. Blair reached for a sandwich and carton of apple juice.

"Different stuff, some organic. Nothing that is dangerous to the person eating it. They were working on different combinations to see if anything reacted with each other, but they're clueless why anyone would put the stuff in the food to begin with." Jim opened his own juice and downed half in one gulp.

"That's easy, man. It's to sell stuff," Blair said nonchalantly as he plucked a few grapes off their stems. "Man, these guys sure understand good nutr---"

"Sandburg!"

Blair jumped slightly, turning to Jim with wide eyes. "What? I'm not gonna eat all of them..."

Jim was rolling his eyes. "Not the grapes, Sherlock. What do you mean they're selling stuff?"

"Oh, that." Blair popped a grape in his mouth. God, he loved it when he knew something Jim didn't. He considered making Jim squirm a little but resisted; besides people were being killed. "Okay, when I was coming out of La La land, before they brought me to you, I heard them talking---"

"Wait a minute, Chief." Jim was out of his chair, walking to a door and opening it up. "You all might want to hear this. Sandburg has some information that could answer some of our questions."

Soon the room was full of agents. Simon entered, giving Blair an exasperated look. Blair had the urge to defend himself. No one had asked if he'd heard anything, they were too busy being whisked to Seattle, then Jim went all pissy and demanding... Blair realized the room was quiet and all eyes were on him.

Wonderful, who could eat a sandwich under these circumstances? He set the food down and sat up straight on the sofa.

"Okay, I was telling Jim that a couple of the guys didn't know I was awake," he started, his hands gesturing with each sentence. "They were talking about a new toy that was being manufactured, like, would it be ready in time for Christmas. They acted like all the kids in the world would be demanding them under the tree. I forget what it was, some stuffed animal, like you see on that Sesame Street show? They were laughing about it, said they should put some stuff in the steak sauce and beer and see how many business men would be in line for one of these toys." Blair looked at his audience. They returned his gaze mutely; each person was displaying a different form of shock.

Finally Pierce frowned and took a seat behind the desk. "None of those elements seemed capable of controlling a person to the point of making them want an object."

Blair waved his hand again, this time in a familiar gesture he used with his students at Rainier. "Ah, but they continued the joke by saying they'd have to figure out a way to put the message into a football sponsorship's TV slot."

"They're using the drugs `and' TV?" an unknown agent asked with surprise.

"I remember hearing about some similar testing being done by the military," Jim said. "Are they still doing them?"

"It's not just the military," Pierce said with a grim look. He scrubbed his face and stood. "Okay, this sends us in a totally new direction. We've been looking for some sort of terrorism attack and the whole time it's been about pocket books. You two finish your lunch. We've got some phone calls to make." He turned to Simon. "You want anything sent in?" he asked, pointing to the food cart.

"Sure, and some decafe coffee?" Simon suggested.

After the three friends were alone in the office, Simon dropped down onto the sofa. "Hand me some of those grapes. I didn't think they'd ever think to feed me. You check all this out, Jim?"

"It's good. Help yourself," Jim invited, passing over a cluster.

"You know I've been thinking," Blair said after swallowing another bite of his sandwich.

"God help us," Simon muttered.

"This `so' explains the Beanie Baby craze, don't you think?"

When Pierce returned to his office, he looked ten years younger. With a wide grin to the three men finishing their lunch, he took a seat behind his desk and opened a file thick with reports.

"You look like a person with good news to share," Simon noted.

"Let's just say we've had a few key pieces of the jigsaw puzzle handed to us on a proverbial platter," Pierce told them, a twinkle in his eye as he eyed Jim and Blair. "If you two decide to change teams, we could sure use your talents, gentlemen."

Simon felt the small hairs on the back of his neck bristle, knowing the words were meant as a compliment, but not liking the sound of them at all. He chanced a quick glance to his side to see what his companions' reaction would be to the Assistant Director's praise. Simon had to cover his mouth and fake a quiet cough after seeing Blair's confusion and Jim's open disgust at the suggestion.

"So what did you find out?" Simon asked quickly before his detective destroyed any sense of inner departmental cooperation they had forged in the last few hours.

"The ID of the leader is a Doctor Franklin W. Booth, originally from the British Isles. He was the chairmen of the board for Free World Advertising. We located some of their television ads and ran them through our lab in Seattle for a preliminary scan, found some very interesting choice of lights and hidden graphics."

"Subliminal stuff, like the old `buy popcorn and coke' gig at the movie theater intermissions?" Blair asked, looking at the FBI agent with interest.

"Right, but not enough to raise the interest of any watch group or government agency," Pierce explained. "It simply wasn't enough on its own to have an effect on even a preschooler. So no one did anything about it."

"Let me guess," Jim interrupted. "If the viewer had just consumed a tainted steak with a baked potato and beer, he'd have consumed the proper mixed dosage of the drugs to plant the impulse to buy whatever the TV ad was trying to sell."

"Bingo," Pierce said. "We still have a lot of tests to run and information to sort through, but we think that's the way it will turn out."

"Holy cow," Blair muttered in shock. "Who would have believed it?"

"So Booth was the brain behind it all?" Simon asked, hoping the case was over and he and his men could get back to their everyday criminals like bank robbers and murderers. This case sounded more like a twisted James Bond movie with a bad plot.

"Well..." Jim said, scratching at the back of his neck. "I'm afraid Booth answered to a group of people he called his partners, at least that's what he told me back in his office before they brought Sandburg in."

"Any idea who they would be?" Pierce asked Jim.

"No, he never gave me any names," Jim admitted.

"Well, we have over three thousand square feet of office to search. Maybe we'll come up with some more information. Meanwhile, if you two are up to it, we'd like to get your formal statements."

After the statements were given and paperwork signed, the FBI suggested a safe house while their investigation went through its early stages. Simon sided with his men when they insisted that they'd be safe in Cascade. If it turned out that additional security was needed, the Cascade Police were well equipped to provide a safe place for them to stay. Pierce was reluctant, but finally caved in when Blair insisted he would find a way back with or without the FBI's knowledge. Simon didn't doubt the young man for a moment. Something told him Blair would be a hard person to keep in one place if he had a mind set on being somewhere else.

By four PM that afternoon, Simon found himself driving north on Interstate Five with Jim sitting next to him and Blair sprawled out on the back seat, still sporting the blanket from Pierce's office. Simon looked into his rear view mirror in time to see Blair's tonsils dangle as the younger man produced a jaw popping yawn before letting his head fall back and closing his eyes.

"You doing okay back there, Sandburg?" Simon asked.

"Yeah, just thinking."

"About..." Jim prompted.

Blair lifted his head and chewed his lip before talking. "Do you guys think it's likely that Booth's buddies are going to come looking for us now that the cat's out of the bag? Maybe looking for revenge or wanting to know about your sentinel abilities?" Blair's questions were asked with a trace of concern coloring his attempt at acting casual.

"Well, Booth did say that his partners had decided I was nothing more then a cop with good nose, so I doubt they're going to bother us. They'll be too busy scrambling for cover during the next few weeks," Jim said, stretching an arm across the top of the seat as he turned slightly to look at his guide. "I think we'll be fine."

"Yeah, you're right," Blair agreed with a firm nod. He watched the scenery pass for a few seconds before turning to Simon with interest. "Hey, I've been meaning to talk to you about your diet, Simon. I know a great herb mix that will help." Blair leaned forward, draping his arms over the front seat.

Simon groaned, didn't this guy ever wind down?

"No, really, Simon. I'm serious," Blair continued.

"Sandburg, I really--"

"You just need some black cohosh, cayenne---"

"I don't like pepper---"

"---Garlic, ginseng, goldenseal---"

"Isn't that a weed?" Jim added from his corner of the car with a smirk towards Simon.

Simon shot him a dirty look as Blair continued his verbal inventory.

"...Valerian root, kelp---"

"I'm NOT taking seaweed, Sandburg!"

"It's totally good for you, Simon," Blair insisted, not even blinking at Simon's tone.

Simon gripped the wheel, why was it he could stop a six foot veteran cop with twenty years of street experience with that particular tone of voice and he couldn't even slow down this grad student?

"...Maitake mushrooms, oh, that reminds me of a great recipe, Jim."

"You're getting sidetracked, Chief. Stay on topic here."

Simon shot a second dirty look, which missed Jim by mere inches and flew out the window striking a innocent crow sitting on the fence post by the highway.

"Right, thanks, man. Where was I? Maitake mushrooms, olive leaf, passion flower---"

"Passion Flower? That a real herb?" Simon asked with a frown.

"Yep, skullcap, hawthorne berry, celery and parsley!" Blair ended with a nod, reminding Simon of the little kid from the TV commercials that used to sing the bologna song for Oscar Meyer.

"Okay, Sandburg. I'm impressed. But I don't want you to go to all that bother. I'll just stick to the diet the doctor gave me."

"It's no bother, Simon. I was just going to send you the internet site. You can order it. They even take Visa."

Simon's reply was cut off by the loud laughter coming from the front passenger seat.

The End.

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