Death Song

by K Ryn

  "We can try it," Jim agreed. "But he'll probably have some kind of jamming signal active."

  Simon stared at him for a moment, then turned to pace the floor, his own mind racing to come up with another alternative. Jim let him pace, impatient for him to agree, but also realizing that his captain had to have time to accept the situation on his own. Finally Simon stopped pacing and stared down at the photos on the counter.

  "I don't like it," he murmured.

  "Simon..."

  "I don't like it!" Simon barked, slamming his fist down on top of the photos, his face a mix of anger and frustration. "Damn it, Jim, we don't even know if Sandburg's still alive!"

  "He is. Dirkson let me talk to him. Just a few words." Jim paused, his own gaze flickering to the photos. "He's in bad shape, but he's alive."

  Quickly, Jim told Simon his suspicions about the condition of Blair's lungs.

  "If we need to, we'll bring the hospital to him," Simon responded. "I'll make sure we've got a full med staff on hand."

  Jim breathed a sigh of relief as he realized that Simon was going to agree with his plan. Grudgingly, but he was going to go along.

  "I'll get in touch with the radio station and get started on this list." Simon patted the paper in his pocket as he moved toward the door. "I'll have everything here before you need to leave."

  "Thank you, sir," Jim said quietly, his mind already turning to things that he'd need to get ready himself.

  Pain brought Blair in and out of consciousness over the next few hours. Pain and the struggle to breathe. He knew something was desperately wrong with his left lung and he found himself constantly tasting blood in his mouth. When the darkness in his mind ebbed, he struggled against the rope that held him dangling upright, but that effort always sent him spinning and back into blackness. At times he simply hung there, afraid to move in case it would draw the attention of his captor. That had happened already -- the man appearing out of nowhere to deliver another blow without warning.

  Sometimes when he awoke he felt almost nothing, and that frightened him the most. When he couldn't feel his legs, when the pain in his side had passed beyond what his body could encompass, then his mind filled with panic¤terror he sought to fight by shifting into some of the breathing and relaxation exercises that he'd learned in his travels. But every time he came close to achieving some kind of balance within himself, he lost his concentration and felt himself fighting just to fill his lungs.

  Finally he grew numb inside, his mind moving sluggishly as he stared into the darkness, no longer conscious of the passage of time.

  Jim stood outside the warehouse, scrutinizing every detail, looking for a sign from Dirkson. There would be one, he was sure. One door that would lead him into the beginning of the maze. As he extended his senses he caught a faint gleam of metal and he moved forward, approaching a doorway. On the handle hung a headset and after checking for a trap, he took it in his hands, examined it and then put it on.

  "Time to get started, Jim-bo," came Dirkson's voice in his ear.

  "Not until I talk to Sandburg," Jim countered. "You were supposed to keep him alive, remember? I want proof."

  "Then talk to him," Dirkson barked. "He's linked into this frequency."

  "Blair, it's Jim... I need you to answer me..." The Sentinel said evenly, none of his own uncertainties evident in his voice.

  There was a long silence with no response.

  "He's not answering, Dirkson," Jim said angrily. "The game's off if he's dead."

  "He's not dead... yet," snarled Dirkson. "He's just being stubborn."

  In his headset Jim heard a sudden gasp of pain. His extended hearing picked up the same rasping breathing that he'd heard before, although it was even more labored than it had been earlier.

  "Talk to him, damn it," he heard Dirkson order savagely as another gasp reached his ears.

  "No..." he heard Blair whisper brokenly.

  "That's good enough," Jim responded, realizing that Dirkson was with his Guide at that minute and that pushing him now would only result in Blair being on the receiving end of further abuse.

  "Then come inside," Dirkson ordered.

  "No... don't... Jim... don't..." came a desperate objection from Blair, which was immediately cut off.

  The Sentinel scanned the door quickly and saw a small wire connected to the door knob. His extended senses picked up a faint heat source and he pulled his hand back.

  "Not until you disarm the door," Jim countered.

  There was an audible click and the door popped open a few inches. Moving cautiously, Jim eased it open just enough to slip through, stepping forward only two feet into the darkness.

  He heard a click as the door closed and locked behind him. Jim didn't have to look to know that it had been rearmed as well. As he stood there in the darkness, Incacha's word's echoed in his mind.

  "The past is always with you."

  Jim abruptly realized the essential element of truth in the words. Instead of the uncertainty and regrets about his past he'd felt earlier, he realized that he could use his past wisely in the present -- take advantage of the positive things his knowledge and training had given him, and use the mistakes as guideposts for the future.

  Drawing on a distant memory, he took a quick series of breaths. It was suddenly as if his mind was operating on a number of levels at once. It immediately took in the data that his extended senses were transmitting back to him, analyzing and cataloging the details for later use.

  He was aware of a quick burst of relief that Blair was still alive. Another part of his mind noted the fact that Dirkson was with him, near enough to force him to answer Jim's query, and immediately correlated that with the surveillence data that they'd gathered earlier.

  It was a four story warehouse, nearly 7,000 square feet on each floor. The chopper had managed five passes and amidst the dozen or so hot spots that the scanner had picked up in the building, they'd identified two as human beings. One of those remained stationary near the center of the building on the top level, while another showed up in different positions on each pass. Jim had designated the first one to be Blair, the second to be Dirkson moving around the building setting his traps. That they were together now didn't mean that they would remain so, but it gave him a relative target location.

  The controlled closing of the door also gave him valuable information¤Dirkson had a rigged at least some of his traps to operate by remote. That meant that Jim would have to be on the look-out not just for explosives, but for Dirkson himself. He'd be mobile, not just sitting behind a monitor somewhere, watching.

  All of the input and analysis happened in less time than it took for Jim to blink three times and draw in another deep, calming breath.

  His eyes had adjusted to the darkness and Jim glanced around, evaluating the narrow hallway he stood in, his eyes flickering over a series of six closed doors.

  "You wanted me, here, I'm here," Jim called out. "Let's get on with it."

  "Still impatient, aren't you, Jim-bo," came Dirkson's sneering voice over the headset. "Just like the old days. Always gung- ho. Always pushing. Always taking charge."

  Jim approached the doors and examined them cautiously, looking for traps while he listened to Dirkson's words.

  "Your game, your rules, remember?" he asked softly, still moving along the corridor.

  "That's right!" snarled Dirkson.

  "Then tell me what you want," Jim responded softly, coming to a stop at one of the doors and eyeing it closely as he caught sight of a wire running down the side.

  "What I want?" Dirkson's voice raised to an almost screaming pitch. "I want you to suffer like I've suffered, watching your friends assaulted and dying one by one, and then I want you dead!"

  There was a long silent pause which Jim chose not to disturb, worried that if Dirkson was still close to Blair that anything he said might antagonize him into action.

  When Dirkson's voice came back on the headset it was calmer, but still brittle with a
dangerous edge to it.

  "But we've got a long night ahead of us," he murmured. "And you're eager to get started. In fact I'd guess you've already been checking out the doors in front of you. Each of those doors leads into a very special maze that I've constructed just for you. You run the maze and get through it in one piece and you get the prize -- your partner."

  "And I'm supposed to believe that if I get to him you're going to let us out of here alive?" Jim asked, listening closely at each door now.

  "Well, there is a little surprise waiting with him," Dirkson murmured. "I suppose that if you made it past that, then I'd have to agree to turning you both loose."

  Jim made a quick mental note to remember his comment about the surprise and kept examining the doors, now bending to check the base of each.

  "I'll hold you to it," Jim commented softly.

  "I warn you Jim-bo, if you try to give up halfway through, you forfeit and so does he."

  "I'd start worrying about what happens when he's out of here safely," Jim responded, rising to his feet, his eyes on the door he'd chosen.

  "Is that a threat, Jim-bo?" chuckled Dirkson.

  "A promise."

  "Still playing the tough-guy, eh?" Dirkson laughed again. "I think you've lost it, Jim-bo. I think you've gone soft like the rest of those amatuers you've been hanging around with. I don't think you've got what it takes anymore, so I'm going to give you a little advantage. I'm going to activate your partner's com link and keep it open. I'll even get off the link except for a quick interruption every now and then. 'Course if you want to talk to me, beg for a way out, for your partner's life, whatever, then you just give a shout. I'll hear you."

  There was a pause, then Dirkson spoke softly again.

  "Ready, get set..."

  Jim was through the door before Dirkson finished. As he heard him whisper "go", there was a flash of a small explosion in the corridor he'd just left. Thrusting the door he'd chosen closed, Jim moved a few steps ahead, eyeing his new surroundings.

  The corridor led to his left and he followed it slowly, senses at their maximum range. He edged around a corner and then froze as he became aware of a click and a faint sound in his earpiece.

  "Chief... Blair, is that you?" Jim dodged his head around the corner to get a quick look at what lay beyond.

  "Jim... get out... of here..." Blair whispered, his breathing ragged and his voice strained.

  "I'm already inside and on my way to you. Just hold on a little while longer."

  "No... this guy's crazy... he wants... to kill you..."

  "I'm not too fond of him right now, either," Jim answered, moving around the corner and finding another set of doors. "Is he there with you, now?"

  "No... who is he?"

  "An old army buddy," Jim answered grimly.

  There was a moment of silence as Blair struggled with the implications of that comment.

  "Jim... listen..." Blair strained to force the words out. "There's no way... you're going... to reach me... he's got... this whole place... rigged..."

  "Yeah, I know Chief. I've discovered a few surprises already."

  "Then get out... of here..."

  "Not without you." Jim touched one of the doors gingerly, pulling his hand away quickly -- there was heat there, he decided, moving to the second one.

  He caught a whiff of something chemical and backed off from that door too. He eyed them hesitantly, then gave the first door a kick, rolling backward at the same time. He felt the heat of a sunburst flare and shielded his eyes, wary about losing his night vision for even a moment.

  "Jim... Jim... are you all right?"

  "Yeah... I'm fine," Jim assured his worried Guide, waving away the smoke and making his way forward through the doorway.

  A burst of coughing and a groan of pain came through the headset, followed by a wheezing gasp. Jim crouched by the wall in the next corridor, his attention momentarily focused on Blair.

  "Easy Chief," he murmured helplessly. He could see what looked like a set of stairs just ahead. "Just take it easy..."

  "Jim... something's wrong... inside... something's broken... when he hit me..." The Sentinel heard the rattling gasp as his Guide struggled for air again. "It's hard... to breathe..."

  "I know," Jim said softly. "I can hear it. I think you've got a punctured lung. That's why you're having trouble breathing."

  "... there's blood..." Blair's agonized voice was a faint whisper. "Can't get... any air..."

  "Blair, listen to me," Jim said firmly, rising to his feet and moving forward, anxious to get to the younger man as soon as he could, sensing the pain and loss of hope in his voice. "I want you to stop talking... just concentrate on breathing, slow and easy..."

  "... it hurts..." came Blair's response as if he hadn't heard Jim's words.

  "You can do it, Chief," Jim said encouragingly, still moving forward, his eyes sweeping the corridor for any sign of another trap. "We've got help waiting just outside. You just need to hang on until I get there."

  Jim stopped, staring up into the darkness of the staircase.

  "Chief, you remember that relaxation exercise you taught me? I want you to work on it for a couple of minutes. Concentrate on that... but don't fall asleep, okay?"

  There was no answer for a moment except for the tortured sound of his Guide struggling for breath.

  "Blair, did you hear me?" Jim asked worriedly, eyeing the walls around him.

  "Thought... you wanted me... to stop... talking..."

  "Smart guy," Jim answered, relieved. "Let's amend that to one word answers."

  "Okay..."

  Satisfied that Blair would hold his own for a few minutes, Jim turned his attention to the staircase. Something felt wrong, but he couldn't place it. He weighed his options -- he could either go back and look for another way up, or he could take this passage. He checked his watch and saw to his dismay that thirty minutes had already passed since he'd entered the building. That decided him.

  Jim looked up into the stairwell and pulled a collapsible grappling hook from one of the pockets in his vest. In seconds, he had it hooked to the top of the railing on the next level above him and was rapidly scaling it. Pulling himself over the metal rail, he glanced down. From his vantage point he could see some discoloration on the steps and guessed that he'd just avoided stepping on some kind of chemical explosive or pressure mine.

  "You still with me, Chief?" he asked softly, inspecting the single door that lead onward.

  "... Yeah..."

  "Good. I'm making progress," Jim murmured. "I'll check back with you in just a few minutes."

  Jim found the explosive charge that was attached to the door. He pulled out the small case that Taggert had prepared for him and sweated out the next few minutes as he worked to disarm the bomb. He finally drew a slow breath and then gave the door a cautious push, opening it only enough to slip through.

  He looked around, trying to assess his surroundings and get his bearings. This had once been a manufacturing floor, he realized, staring at the odd silhouettes of heavy equipment. Glancing upward, he could see a high ceiling and exposed girders. Hefting the grappling hook he swung it in a high arc. It fell short of the lowest beams, clattering noisily to the floor.

  The Sentinel froze in dismay. He'd hoped to keep his own position masked, but the banging of the grappler on the concrete was a sure giveaway. He didn't expect Dirkson to sit and wait for him to get to Blair. Jim knew that the temptation to 'hunt' would be too much for Dirkson to pass up, and now he knew exactly where his prey could be found.

  Moving quickly, Jim vaulted to one of the pieces of equipment, tossing the hook upward again. This time it held. There were two possible locations for the next stairwell, and he decided to try for the one that was to his right.

  Jim tugged at the rope one more time and then began to climb. Reaching the girder he pulled himself onto it, disengaged the hook and tossed it forward again, hooking it to another metal strut 20 feet away. Gripping the rope tightly he
let himself swing down, his momentum carrying him past the girder, where he reached out and grabbed another. Stabilizing his position, he tugged the grappler free, gathered it in and tossed it to another strut. He swung down, heard the sharp retort of a gunshot and felt the rope give way. He dropped like a rock toward the floor below.

  Instinct and training kicked in. He bent his knees, absorbing part of the shock of landing by bouncing feet first into a piece of equipment and then quickly pulling his legs in so that he'd hit the floor rolling.

  The force of the landing was still enough to leave him dazed as he crawled to a more sheltered position, collecting himself as he leaned against a stack of wooden crates.

  "That's breaking the rules," he heard Dirkson snarl in the headset. "Stay in the maze, Jim-bo, or the forfeit goes into effect."

  The Sentinel shook off the worst of his dizziness, berating himself for underestimating his adversary. Going across the top had been too easy, and he should have expected Dirkson to try to stop him. Massaging his left shoulder, he gazed into the cluttered darkness, straining to get his bearings.

  "You know, I'm almost impressed, Jim-bo," came Dirkson's sneering voice. "Guess you haven't forgotten everything from the old days. I was beginning to wonder... I mean it was pretty funny watching you fumble around for the last few days, with no hint as to what was going on. I think you'd still be in the dark if I hadn't decided to restructure the game. And I left you such great clues. All you had to do was put them together to figure out who was behind it."

  "I wasn't looking for a dead man."

  Jim rose to his feet and dodged to shelter behind another stack of crates.

  "You see, that's what I mean," Dirkson rambled on. "You forgot the first rule -- never assume an enemy's dead until you check the body."

  "You weren't an enemy until now," Jim answered softly.

  "That's where you're wrong, Jim-bo," Dirkson growled. "I've always been your enemy. You were just too full of yourself to see it."

  There was an almost inaudible click in the headset as Dirkson pulled out of the link and Jim heard Blair's voice calling to him desperately.