by K Ryn
He glanced at his watch as he pulled the cell phone from his jacket. Just over an hour had passed since Gordon had stepped into the bar. Time to make his call to Simon and let him know what had transpired -- and to check on his Guide.
The impression of danger that both the Sentinel and the panther had sensed the previous night still lingered. It was connected to his Guide -- he knew that instinctively. What form the danger would take, or from what direction the attack would come -- those remained unanswered questions. Given his partner's ability to find and attract trouble, what he was picking up might not even be related to the case.
Jim sighed and punched in the speed dial number to reach his captain. Keeping Blair out of the line of fire and under someone's watchful eye -- someone he could trust -- was the best he could do for now. He needed Simon's help, but he wasn't sure how to go about explaining what he didn't quite understand himself.
//"I'm here, Jim,"// Banks responded immediately. //''You okay? Where are you?"//
"I'm fine. I'm back at the loft. Is Sandburg still with Taggert?"
//"Joel picked him up as planned. He's got instructions to drive the kid around until he hears from me. Why? Did something go wrong?"//
"No, everything went down pretty much as we'd hoped. Gordon was the contact. We got past the shaking hands and flattery stage and he's supposed to call me to set another meet for tonight. Look, things are going to move pretty fast from this point. I don't think it's a good idea for Sandburg to go back to the university today. The place is too open. Jenson could make a move..."
//"Wait a minute, Jim,// Banks interrupted. //"Is this that big brother protectiveness of yours or do you really think the kid's in danger?"//
The Sentinel hesitated. Over the past two years, Banks had pretty much ceased questioning his partnership with Blair. Part of that was due to the fact that they'd proven themselves time and time again. They were a good team with an impressive arrest and conviction record. Part of it was Simon's grudging acceptance and growing respect for the younger man -- something that Jim knew that his captain would deny vehemently if pressed. And part of it was because of the friendship that they shared.
Yet even though Simon was a good friend, Jim sensed that the older man was still uncomfortable with the whole Sentinel/Guide concept and what it entailed. Accepting that his detective had enhanced senses and needed the help of an anthropologist to use them was one thing -- getting him to believe that said detective had a mystical connection to a Spirit Guide who materialized out of thin air in the form of a black panther and that the long-haired talkative grad student was also a novitiate Shaman who occasionally dabbled on another plane of existence was something else entirely.
"Just call it a gut-feeling, Captain. Blair's name came up in the conversation. I'd feel better if he were back at the motel," Jim admitted.
//"You know Sandburg's not going to like this."//
"Trust me Simon, he's not the only one. Never thought I'd say it, but the loft's too quiet without him around. I'd like nothing better than to have him with me, but I won't risk it."
//"And I wouldn't authorize it, anyway. All right, give me a couple of minutes. I'll set things in motion. Is it safe to call you there?"//
"Just use this phone. I'll be waiting."
Jim shut off the cell and crossed to the kitchen. He pulled a bottle of water from the refrigerator and busied himself by making a sandwich. He'd taken one small bite when the phone trilled again.
//"It's done,"// Simon announced tersely. //"They're on the way to the motel now. I told Taggert to take him straight there and to leave Sandburg's car at the university. Joel's going to take a room at one of the other motels down the street from Blair's and he'll take over monitoring the kid personally. I'll warn you though, you're going to owe Taggert big-time for this little maneuver, Jim."//
It'll be worth anything Joel wants, as long as Blair's safe, Jim vowed, setting his sandwich aside. "Understood, sir."
//"All right. Let's get down to it. Are you still under surveillance?"//
"Not any more. I persuaded Gordon to end it. I trashed the bug they'd planted here just before calling you, but I'm not sure my main phone line is safe to use yet."
//"Persuaded how?"//
There was no mistaking the irritation in Simon's tone. Or the worry. "I had to resort to playing a little hardball, Captain," Jim explained. "Gordon wanted to keep things just between the two of us. I told him that wasn't going to happen."
//"Damn it, Jim, are you trying to get yourself killed? I thought we'd agreed that you'd take this slow."//
"Gordon's not running the show, Simon. Jenson is. Until we get to him, we're not any closer to nailing these guys than we were when this started. We can't afford to dance attendance on one of his grunts until they decide it's safe to let me further inside. There hasn't been another murder or fire yet this week and I'd like to keep it that way. I was there, I made the call. It felt like the right thing to do. Besides, if he's really interested, Jenson has to have checked me out. He'd know about my background in the military and Covert Ops. I think the tails and the electronic surveillance were some kind of a test."
//"To see whether you're as good as your reputation suggests you are?"//
"Maybe. Gordon said something about my background being valuable to them."
//"What else?"//
"He talked about money and power, but only in vague terms. Gordon mentioned his associates, but he didn't give me any names. The only thing he did say specifically is that they wanted me to return to Major Crimes -- that they had Vice pretty well covered."
//"Damn... how deep does this thing go?"//
"We'll know soon. I pushed for a meet with whoever's in charge. Once they call, I'll have more details for you."
//"You'd better. You're not going in without backup, Jim, so don't even try to argue that point,"// Simon warned.
Jim's gaze flickered to the closed French doors of his partner's room. "As long as it's not Sandburg."
//"Don't worry. I gave Taggert permission to sit on him if necessary. He's going to be keeping a close eye on him."//
"Better than last time, I hope," Jim grumbled.
//"Joel's learned his lesson,"// Simon responded. //"No ostrich chili this time."//
Jim snorted and then turned the conversation to discussing their strategy for dealing with the next meet. When he concluded the call, he tossed the remains of his sandwich in the kitchen trashcan and made a quick lap around the loft, locking things down. After turning up the volume on the answering machine he climbed the stairs to his own bedroom. Sleep was what he needed now.
SMOKE OUT
Slipping into the 'mission eve' mindset he'd learned to use years earlier, Jim eased into a sound sleep. If there were dreams, he didn't remember them when he awoke five hours later. He slid out of bed and headed downstairs. He started a fresh pot of coffee and checked the answering machine before entering the bathroom.
He was showered, shaved, dressed and ingesting his wakeup brew a short time later. After the first cup, he retrieved his guns and laid them on the table. Methodically stripping them down and cleaning both weapons, he began to prepare for battle. Once he was satisfied with their readiness, he took another trip upstairs. He was considerably more lethal, and the battered footlocker that he kept in the rear of his closet was decidedly emptier, when he returned to the kitchen to freshen his coffee.
He leaned back against the kitchen counter, slowly sipping the cooling drink. His gaze drifted across the apartment, committing everything in it to memory. It occurred to him that he'd done the exact same thing when he'd been in the rangers and then later during his time in Covert Ops. Each time he'd prepared to leave on a mission, he'd fixed each detail of his no- nonsense, well-ordered existence in his mind as a reminder of what he was coming back to. There hadn't been much to inventory.
This time it was different.
The loft appeared stark and uncluttered, just as his barracks and private quar
ters had, but the invisible traces of his Guide's presence were there. The Sentinel closed his eyes, picturing Blair's books sitting elbow to elbow with his own on the wooden shelves against the walls; the younger man's never- ending avalanche of papers and reports cascading over the coffee table. He heard the resonant whisper of drums and pan flutes -- his Shaman's earth music -- filling the air with an ancient, soothing rhythm. He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the remembered scent of herbal shampoo and the musty tang that emanated from the tribal masks that normally decorated the walls. The mixed aroma of freshly ground spices and dried herbs wafted from the kitchen, activating his sense of taste, reminding him of comfortable meals shared and confidences exchanged.
His Guide's life-force filled the rooms even in his absence. It swirled around the Sentinel, cresting like the tide -- persistent, elusive, unstoppable -- murmuring softly like a gentle brook as he welcomed it into his heart.
This is what I'd leave behind if I fail. Not some sparsely furnished apartment, not the job, but life itself.
He picked up the cell phone and dialed a number that he'd committed to memory, but never used. It rang three times before it was answered.
//"Ummm... yeah?"//
"It's me, Chief..." the Sentinel murmured, grimacing at the weariness embedded in the sleep-dulled voice of his Guide. . //"Hey, Jim..."// "Sorry to wake you, buddy. I didn't think you'd be asleep yet. You okay?"//
//"No... I mean, yeah... I'm fine..." Blair stammered. //"What time is it?"//
Despite his concerns, Jim smiled. As difficult as it was to get his partner to shut down and go to bed, waking him was even more of a challenge. Blair and sleep did not part company easily. Or quickly. The Sentinel had a clear mental picture of his Guide, half-buried under the covers, blinking groggily, shaking his head in an attempt to clear away the last vestiges of sleep.
"Someday we're going to have to get you a watch, Sandburg, and teach you how to use it. It's just after ten."
There was silence for a moment and then a slightly more alert response. //"Ten... a.m. or p.m.?"//
"Ten o'clock as in two hours before midnight, Chief," Jim responded.
//"Damn..."//
There was more silence and Jim frowned. "You okay, Sandburg?"
//"Yeah... just lost some time, man... that's the second time it's happened today... I guess I..."//
Blair's rambling was broken off abruptly in a sharp inhalation of breath...
"Chief?"
... followed by a dull 'clunk' as if the phone had fallen on something soft.
"Blair?"
And finally a choked gasp.
//"Wait..."//
Blair gripped the phone tightly to keep from fumbling it into the blankets again and scrambled out of bed, launching himself toward the bathroom. The cold tiles under his bare feet made him shiver, but he welcomed the sensation as it shifted him further awake. Pushing the door shut behind him, he laid the phone gently -- almost reverently -- on the floor, and turned on the sink's cold water tap, taking a second to splash some on his face. Still dripping, he left the water running and bent down to retrieve the phone, taking a deep breath before he spoke.
"Jim? Are you there?"
//"Still here, Chief. Why the sudden change of venue?"//
"What? Oh... Joel's got the magic ear duty, man. I didn't want him hearing something that he shouldn't about you know what, so I moved the party to someplace with a little more privacy." Blair winced at the tremulous quaver in his voice and the pitch which was at the top end of his range. "Why are you calling? Is something wrong?"
//"Slow down, Professor and catch your breath,"// Jim admonished with a low chuckle. //"Nothing's wrong. I'm still at the loft. No action yet."//
Blair slid to the floor and rested his back against the toilet. He wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or worried. "No action... you mean no call from Gordon?"
//"Zip."//
Blair recognized the irritated growl in his partner's tone and decided worried was the way to go.
"You think there's a problem?"
//"I hope not. I'd hate to think that my Oscar-winning performance this afternoon was wasted."//
Blair found himself grinning. "Did you use the Hard-Ass Covert Operative approach or the Shady Detective acting method?"
//"A little of both with some Obfuscating Observer thrown in to top it off. You would have been proud."//
"I'll bet Gordon was suitably impressed. I wish I could have seen it..." Blair caught himself as he realized what he was saying. He had seen some of it -- at least the opening act.
"I think he got the point. I'll tell you, Chief, I'm not going to sit through another meeting with him unless he stays downwind and leaves his cigarettes behind. I can still smell burnt tobacco."
Blair launched himself into the opening that Jim had given him. This was Guide territory that they'd just entered. "How are you doing? With your senses, I mean? Any spikes? Headaches?"
//"Everything's working fine, Chief. All the dials are responding just like you programmed them to and I've been careful not to push any one sense too much. My one and only headache went away as soon as Jenson's thugs stopped tailing me."//
Blair stiffened, wondering what his partner had done to produce that result. He decided the details weren't important, just the evaluation of the fallout.
"Jim, aren't you the one that told me it's always better to know where the enemy is? I mean, I'm sure it wasn't much fun seeing that vermin in your rearview mirror every time you turned around, but now they could come out of the woodwork from any direction."
He heard the older man sigh and mumble something that sounded like 'necessary risk.' He shuddered. "Jim... you are being careful, right?" he asked softly.
//"Yes, Mom. I'm being careful. How about you?"// "Me? I've got nothing to be careful about, man. " Bitterness and anger tinged his tone and the harsh words poured out before he could stop himself. "No worries, you know? Joel's put himself in charge of my sleeping and eating schedule. I think he's even contemplating changing the passwords my computer to make sure I don't tire myself out working too hard. Don't have to worry about whether my car's going to be broken into out in the motel parking lot because it's not there -- although since it's not parked in the long term area at the university I'll probably have to pay a fortune to get it out of impound when and if you and Simon decide to let me out of here..."
//"Chief..."//
"And I've got lots of distractions," he plunged on. "Lots of things to keep me from worrying about whether you're zoned out or just plain dead. I've had offers, you know, if I have to make a career change. I mean, what good's a Guide without a Sentinel? The old guy that owns the place has made it pretty clear that he'd be interested in getting to know me better... lots better, if you catch my drift. Come to think of it, this could work out pretty slick if you do survive this shit and decide that you want me out of the loft for good. All my stuff's here and it'd be a short trip down to the other end of the motel..."
//"Sandburg, will you just stop for a minute?"//
The desperation in his partner's voice cut through Blair's awareness and ended his tirade abruptly. Horrified by what had just spewed out of his mouth, Blair clenched the phone in both hands and lowered it between his knees.
What the hell's wrong with me? he wondered miserably. How could I have lost it like that?
Jim's voice was a tinny whisper on the other end of the phone, urging him to get back on the line, but he couldn't move -- couldn't trust what he might say. At least not until he heard his partner threaten to come to the motel if Blair didn't pick up in the next few seconds. That put him back in gear immediately.
"No... Jim, wait! I'm here... just... just give me a minute..." he pleaded.
Jim's voice came on the line again, soft and soothing. //"Okay... breathe, Chief. Nice cleansing breaths, just like you're always coaching me to do..."//
Blair struggled to comply with his Sentinel's directions. In. Out. In. Out. Slower. I
n. Out.
//"That's better buddy, keep it up. You're doing fine,"// Jim murmured encouragingly.
"Do I sound... that patronizing... when it's you on the... receiving end?" Blair gasped, trying to cover his embarrassment with sarcasm.
//"All the time, Sandburg."//
"Bet you're... enjoying this, then."
An awkward silence followed that flippant remark and Blair immediately apologized. "Sorry, man. I didn't mean that. Guess I'm just having problems controlling what's left of my brain. Must be more tired than I thought."
More silence, and then, //"Talk to me, Blair. Tell me what's going on in that head of yours."//
"Nothing and everything," Blair replied honestly. "I'm just tired of all of this. And worried. I don't like the idea of you doing this alone."
//"That goes both ways, partner,"// Jim said quietly, mirroring Blair's own thoughts. //This will be over soon. Tonight, if I can make it happen."//
"Jim, don't rush things. It's too dangerous," Blair pleaded.
//"Careful, you're beginning to sound like Simon."//
Great. I needed another identity crisis, Blair thought grimly. "Normally I'd be insulted, but in this case I'll take that as a compliment. Listen to us."
//"Tell me about this guy that owns the motel," Jim urged, switching the subject abruptly. //"Has he really been hassling you?"//
"Put the Blessed Protector Cape back on the hook, Jim. The guy's creepy, but he's not dangerous. I can handle him just by keeping the door locked."
//"Make sure that's both doors, Sandburg.//
"Relax, Jim. Look, just forget everything I babbled about a few minutes ago, okay? Chalk it up to ravings from the Sandburg Zone, and let it go. You need to keep your head in what's going to go down tonight after Gordon calls."
//"I need to know that you're all right, Blair."//
