by K Ryn
"Normally, I'd be complaining about the weather, but in this case, it's working in our favor."
Jim glanced up at the unknown voice, meeting the hard, cold gaze of the man he'd seen Anders arguing with earlier.
"Detective Ellison, Blair Sandburg, this is Dirk Bailey," the agent explained. "Dirk's our best tracker. He's the one who got us this far."
"Detective." Bailey's voice was as cool as his eyes, as he gave the briefest of nods in acknowledgment of the introduction, his gaze flickering to Blair for just a moment before returning to regard Jim almost challengingly.
The Sentinel automatically stiffened, but a firm squeeze at his shoulder reminded him of his promise to his Guide and he forced himself to relax.
"Bailey." To his own ears, Jim's curt response was nearly as frigid as the tracker's had been, but neither the tracker or Anders seemed to react to it. The increase of pressure on his shoulder however, told him that his partner had noticed, and he quickly turned to study the muddy impressions again.
"These tracks aren't regulation size for a school bus," Jim observed, leaning forward to run his fingers lightly over the rigid indentations.
"It's one of those small models," Anders interjected. "Carries about 30 passengers."
Ellison nodded absently, his sharp eyes continuing to examine the marks. A puzzled expression began to form on his face. He glanced back over his shoulder at the path they had just walked and abruptly rose to his feet, turning to gaze beyond the puddle once more. The 'road', if you could call it that, branched out into three rough trails just beyond where they were standing. Each was as rugged looking as the course Anders had followed from the drop site, and all three trails disappeared into the overgrown forest. Even given the smaller-sized vehicle, any of the directions would have posed significant obstacles for the missing bus. Jim began to admit that the case was playing out more and more like a kidnapping. None of the obvious options would have been an intelligent choice, if indeed the driver had simply gotten lost.
"There's been more than one vehicle through here since the rain this morning," he announced abruptly, his gaze meeting Blair's for a moment before shifting to the other two men.
Bailey stiffened in surprise at his words, but Anders seemed to take the announcement in stride. "How do you know that?" the agent asked quietly.
"There are at least three different sets of tracks," Jim explained. "One five-tread pattern, probably an ATV of some kind. The impressions are several inches deep, so I'd guess commercial or military issue. It's carrying some weight, too."
Jim knelt back down next to the tracks in the mud and ran his hand along the surface again. He felt an oiliness to the soil and brought his fingers to his nose for a moment before glancing up. "There are two more tread patterns here. Both six-rib tracks, probably 36 to 40 inch wheels. That's consistent with the tires used for the size of the bus we're looking for, as well as about a dozen other models of trucks and vans. One of those vehicles is leaking transmission fluid. I saw some drops on the pavement. Any chance of finding out when the bus was last in for service?"
"I'll have one of my men contact the charter company right away," Anders answered, turning to Bailey curiously. "How'd you miss that, Dirk?"
"I don't know," the tracker replied flatly. "Guess it's time for me to get my eyes checked," he added humorlessly, his eyes flashing with a glint of anger.
"Can you tell which way they went from here, Jim?"
Blair's question broke the building tension between the men and the Sentinel straightened, shifting a step closer to his partner in response to his Guide's nervous heartbeat. Placing his hand lightly on the younger man's arm in a sign of both reassurance and direction, he gestured with a lift of his chin.
"The smearing on the side of the top tread pattern indicates that it bore to the right," he explained, staring down the rough trail for a moment before glancing back at Anders. "Looks like it leads south. Is there another road in that direction? One that leads back down to the entrance?"
"Nothing on the map," the agent answered. "That's our bearing, then?"
Ellison started to nod, then glanced over at Bailey. The tracker's face was unreadable.
"It's a place to start," Jim acknowledged.
"Assign Fredericks and Dunn to two of the other parties," Anders ordered the tracker. "That way you can work with Ellison and Sandburg and we'll still have six teams."
Jim caught the briefest flicker of satisfaction on Bailey's face before the man's gaze shifted to meet his. At the same time, he heard the sharp intake of breath from his partner.
"Sandburg and I are used to working on our own," Jim interjected smoothly. "There's no need to alter the arrangements you already have set up."
Anders froze, his glance shifting quickly from Bailey to Jim. There was a flash of uncertainty in those gray eyes. The Sentinel reached out with his senses to try to get a better read on the man, but whatever he had seen was gone immediately.
"Of course. Dirk, grab a couple of headsets for Detective Ellison and his partner, please."
After a second's hesitation, Bailey gave a terse nod and stalked over to the supply truck.
Anders gave the tracker a thoughtful stare before turning back to Jim. "I guess I should apologize for Dirk. He's not used to being outdone. He really is a good man. This case may be hitting a little too close for home. He's got kids of his own."
"Too close for everyone," Jim responded quietly.
"Isn't that the truth." Anders gave Bailey one more quick look, and shook his head. "You take point. I'll have Dirk align the other teams accordingly. Good job, by the way. I can see why you came so highly recommended."
Anders gave them a final nod of approval and headed back toward the waiting vehicles and men, shouting orders as he went. Blair had remained silent during the entire exchange and Jim heard him release a sigh of relief once the agent had moved away. Ellison turned to study the anthropologist carefully and saw the furrowed brow which was typically a warning sign of his partner's irritation. With a flush of guilt, he knew the emotion was directed at him.
"Well, that was pleasant," Blair growled under his breath. "I can see that we're going to have to work on your interpretation of 'being careful'."
Bailey's return forestalled any other comments. He handed over the headsets, his expression skeptical when Jim assured him that they were familiar with their operation.
"It's not going to be as easy, following that trail in the grass, Ellison."
The sneer in Bailey's voice irritated Jim. I've had about enough of this guy, he thought angrily. He turned to face the tracker, only to find Blair planted between them, his back to the Sentinel, his head tilted slightly upward as he addressed the taller man.
"Maybe we'll get lucky." The adversarial stance and the sharp tone of his Guide's voice stopped Jim from interfering, although he watched the tracker carefully.
"Yeah... maybe you will..." Bailey finally responded, his scathing gaze shifting from Blair and then to Jim. With a final glare, he turned away abruptly and headed back toward the waiting teams.
"Friendly sort, isn't he?" Jim murmured.
"Probably is until he gets put in his place by someone better equipped," Blair responded in a whisper, turning slightly to look up at Jim. "Show-off!"
The Sentinel started to smile at the accusation, but the anxious expression on his Guide's face reminded him of what he'd just done. He took a deep breath and glanced toward Bailey, wondering silently what had possessed him to feel like he needed to put the man in his place.
"At least you have the good grace to look embarrassed," Blair muttered under his breath.
Jim grimaced and immediately felt Blair's hand on his arm. His Guide's gentle touch and the soothing timbre of his voice when he spoke again, took the sting out of the curt reprimand.
"Jim, I'm not asking you not to use your senses. Just tone it down a little, all right? We don't have to impress these guys, just find the missing kids."
Ell
ison nodded in silent apology and began to adjust the younger man's headset, giving him a quick review on how the communication device worked. Once Blair's was rigged and clipped to his belt, Jim settled his own on his head, cocking the earpiece aside slightly, so that it wouldn't interfere with his own hearing. Flipping the unit on, he spoke softly into the transmitter, watching Blair's reaction to gauge how well his partner's was working.
"Better turn yours down, Jim," Blair suggested, his voice carrying none of the irritation it had contained just a few minutes earlier. "It sounds like you're shouting in my ear. You don't want to get blasted. Do we really have to use these things?"
"The search teams will spread out beyond visual range," Jim explained, adjusting the audio levels downward another notch. "We'll need these to keep in touch."
"We?"
Jim glanced up in time to see a mischievous grin flicker across the younger man's face.
"Yes, we, Sandburg. You wanted unobtrusive, remember?"
The abrupt departure of the smile and the worried look in his partner's eyes made Jim regret his remark immediately.
"Chief --"
"No, Jim. It's all right," Blair answered, reaching out with a feather-like touch in reassurance. "Any other time, I'd be happier than hell at the way you made that guy eat your dust. You did an amazing job, you know, with those tire tracks. They never would have spotted what you did. I meant to tell you that."
"Thanks. I have a good teacher," Jim responded softly.
"Yeah, one that needs to constantly keep you in line. I'll allow an A+ for achievement, but you're still getting an 'unsatisfactory' grade for how you play with others."
Jim grinned back at the friendly banter. It was a familiar pattern and it reflected their ability to put their differences aside and merge into the resourceful partnership they enjoyed.
"You ready to do this?"
"Ready as I'll ever be," Blair answered. "Lead on."
As Jim moved forward, following the direction that the tracks had indicated, Blair fell into his accustomed place, several paces behind him. Mindful of his partner's almost anal approach to proper procedure, Blair automatically lengthened his stride, trying to step only where the Sentinel had trod, and found himself grinning despite the seriousness of the situation. Jim really had trained him well, although he knew that sometimes his older partner despaired of ever getting him to follow his orders.
Seeing the Sentinel glide purposefully across the rough ground, brought to mind the image of a panther on a hunt. Blair knew Jim had all of his senses dialed up, searching for any evidence which would help them find the missing bus. He felt a warm surge of pride in his friend and allowed himself to relax a little. This was Jim's area of expertise -- Sentinel abilities not-withstanding -- and Blair had every confidence in his partner. He felt a smug sense of satisfaction at the way Jim had out-classed Bailey, even though the action had probably earned them the man's everlasting enmity.
After a few minutes of walking, the open ground gave way to denser forest, although there was still enough room -- barely -- for the small bus to have been driven between the trees. As Jim wound a seemingly erratic path through the dense foliage, Blair slipped from Guide mode into his observer role and studied their surroundings. The sunlight flickering through the trees held the marginal heat of early afternoon and he frowned, realizing the day was slipping away quickly. At this elevation, it would start to get cold long before the sun went down. He shivered, wishing he had more than just his lightweight jacket and two layers of shirts to keep him warm.
And those kids probably don't have much more. Another reason to wrap this up as quickly as we can, he thought grimly.
Noting that Jim's longer strides had increased the distance between them, Blair picked up his own pace a bit, scanning the terrain anxiously. The last time he and his partner had been in this area, they'd found that the deceptively gentle forest gave way without warning to deadly ravines. He found himself hoping that the bus hadn't been driven into one of those.
He intentionally turned his thoughts away from the children and their adult companions, seeking a distraction to keep the fears for their safety at bay. In another fluid role shift, he drifted from observer to anthropologist, pondering the evils that seemed to permeate modern society; the consequences of a monetary-based value system; and finally, the mentality behind kidnappings in general.
The diversion helped until he heard a familiar muffled curse in his headset. Jim had come to a halt a few feet ahead, and from the cocked head and tense posture, Blair knew the Sentinel had either momentarily lost the trail, or that he was straining to pick up on some elusive lead.
His own progress faltered as a high pitched squawk shrieked in his ear. With a savage flip of a switch, he shut off the com unit. Shaking his head vigorously at the electronic feedback which reverberated in his skull, he glanced anxiously toward his partner. The transformation from detached anthropologist to concerned Guide was instantaneous. With a worried gasp, he shot forward at the sight of his friend, hands to his ears, nearly doubled over in pain. Blair was murmuring soft reassurances even before he reached the Sentinel's side. Crouching next to the older man, he flattened his right hand against Jim's back, using the physical contact to help his companion focus.
"Easy, man... just dial everything back for a few minutes. Concentrate on my voice."
A terse nod was all the response he received. Blair continued to whisper softly, using his voice as a safety line to draw the Sentinel out of the sensory chaos that the sonic blast had triggered.
Finally, Jim raised his head and Blair watched him closely. There was still residual pain reflected in the blue eyes that met his, but it was fading quickly. "You okay?" he asked softly as they both rose to their feet.
"Yeah... I just had everything wide open when that damn thing went off," the older man answered, his voice a low growl, filled with irritation.
Blair's eyes suddenly went wide with fright and he grabbed at Jim's com unit, letting out a gasp of relief when he saw that it was turned off.
Thank God, Anders didn't hear any of that! he thought gratefully.
Backing a step away, he stuffed his hands into his coat pockets, hoping to hide their shaking. When he raised his gaze to meet Jim's he knew he wasn't fooling the Sentinel. With a grunt of frustration, he pulled them back out, running his fingers through his unruly curls, pushing a stray strand behind the earpiece in irritation.
"These things are nothing but trouble," he mumbled. "Another example of techno-crap. I'd rather rely on your senses any day."
"Wish I could rely on them right now," Jim said softly.
"You can," Blair said firmly, responding to the edge of doubt in his friend's voice.
"I'm not so sure, this time, Chief. I don't like to admit it, but maybe Bailey was right..."
"Bailey's full of shit," Blair snapped angrily. Shaking his head at his own outburst, he dropped his tone to a more soothing level. "You're tired, and you're worried, that's all. You're pushing your senses so hard that you're working against yourself. I know you, Jim. I know that you can do this. Now talk to me. Tell me what the problem is."
Blair watched as the Sentinel took a deep breath and closed his eyes, obviously trying to follow his Guide's suggestion. "Just before the feedback hit, I thought I'd picked up on something, but it's hard to filter through all the input."
"So Mother Nature has a loud voice. You can cut through it. You've done it before. Let's figure out what it was," Blair directed. "Take another breath and step back in your mind. Replay the sensation. Was it sight, sound...?"
"Smell." Jim's eyes flashed open and he turned abruptly to his right. "Gasoline."
Ellison was off at a run with Blair hard on his heels. As he leaped awkwardly over a fallen tree, the thought flashed through the anthropologist's mind that they were going to have a hard time explaining this mad cross country dash, but the hope they'd find the bus pushed that concern from his mind. Blair ignored the protest of his ow
n tired muscles and stepped up his pace, trying not to lose sight of his partner in the heavy growth. He plowed blindly through a stand of brush and felt firm hands grab onto his arms, yanking him backward.
Startled, he drew in a ragged breath as he stared down into a yawning ravine.
"Easy, Chief." Jim pulled him another step away from the edge. "We'll have to find another way down. It's too steep here. Maybe where the truck went over."
"Truck?" Blair forced his shuddering mind to disregard the rolling pitch of his stomach at the close call and focus on his partner's confusing words. "What truck?"
"That one."
Blair followed the direction of Jim's pointing finger. It took him a few moments to identify the tailgate of what had once been a good-sized pickup.
He felt a tug at his jacket and followed Jim wordlessly, his eyes flickering back to the truck as they worked their way along the ravine edge. It was immediately obvious where the pickup had gone over -- the soil was churned into ruts and broken branches littered the ground.
"Looks like it was driven full speed over the edge," Ellison observed, gesturing toward the swath of destruction leading up to the ravine.
Blair turned to look, grateful for the opportunity to catch his breath. When he turned back, his heart skipped a beat. The detective was perched at the very edge of the chasm, his attention focused below.
"Uh, Jim..."
"Went in head first, that's why we can still see the tailgate. Must be about 75 feet down," Ellison added, seemingly oblivious to his partner's distress.
Swallowing hard against the nauseous feeling in his stomach, Blair edged a step closer. He took a quick peek over Jim's shoulder and drew back shuddering. "Are you getting anything?" he managed to ask, his voice faint even to his own ears.
"I think there's a body in there, but there's so much debris that I can't be sure. I'm not sensing any movement, or any trace of a heartbeat."
"What about smell?"
"The gas and pine pitch are overwhelming everything else," Ellison muttered, the frustration evident in his voice.
