Smoke and Mirrors

by K Ryn

  "We're going to finish off tonight's work as scheduled," Jenson answered, shirking off Gordon's grip and shooting a disgusted glance at his partner. "We'll take them to the site and finish things off there. Ellison will just be another unexplained body. It'll look like he was investigating the fires and got careless."

  "He knew about us," Allen said quietly, joining them at last.

  "It would appear so," Jenson said darkly. "Somewhere along the line someone's made a mistake." He turned his glare on the assembled men. "That won't happen again," he declared.

  "If Ellison was on to us, then we've got some damage control to do besides tonight's cleanup," Randolph murmured.

  Jenson nodded. "Starting with Sandburg. That punk's got to be in on this -- that's why Ellison got him out of the picture. We'll finish this and then find him, wherever he's gone to ground. He'll tell us who else was involved and how much evidence they've got." Jenson gestured toward Jim. "Strip him of anything that looks like a weapon and then load him up with the old man. Be thorough. He's probably carrying enough gear to take out a small army. Move it gentlemen. I want to be clear of this location within ten minutes."

  Out flew the web and floated wide; The mirror cracked from side to side.

  Blair's universe was shrinking.

  Two hours earlier, it had included every mile of the city of Cascade. Simon's call had sent him into a flurry of frantic activity. He'd scrutinized every insurance record that he had in his possession, desperate to figure out where Gordon -- assuming he'd handled the pickup -- might have taken his partner.

  The world had been reduced to the geometric proportions of six square blocks thirty minutes later, when Joel had contacted him to let him know that Rafe and Brown had managed to trace Jim's cell phone to a manufacturing district in the older part of town.

  It had shrunk to 23,000 feet of deserted factory space five minutes after that. Taggert had called again. Simon was confident that they had a fix on the exact location and he was moving into position.

  The news that the signal was no longer active had constricted the viable space around the anxious young man to a seven foot by two foot section of threadbare carpeting in a seedy motel room.

  Blair had paced, hard-pressed to control his rising fear and to ignore the printouts which lay strewn across every flat surface of the room, taunting him with his failure. Thirty minutes of examining the weave of the rug and the tips of his sneakers, he'd punched in the speed dial to reach Joel. Talking to Taggert had been far from reassuring. He hadn't heard from the backup team either. The 'no news is good news' adage hadn't been the least bit comforting.

  Fourteen square feet had became eight as his stride had grown shorter and his nerves more frazzled. Eight had become four, finally reduced to the footprint that his battered Nike's occupied as he ground to a halt. Shaking so hard that he was unable to take another step, his mind obsessed on the passage of time. Too much time. And no reassuring phone call.

  Stress-induced fatigue had dropped him to where he sat, a forlorn, cross-legged figure on a lumpy bed. Mind and body burning with the certainty that his Sentinel was in grave danger, he was vaguely surprised that he himself hadn't already ceased to exist -- extinguished, like the rest of his world, in a puff of smoke.

  After all, what good is a Guide or a Shaman with no Sentinel to lead and counsel? What good is an observer without a detective to traipse around after? What good is it to be alive when your best friend was...

  Blair's bloodshot eyes swung to the door. He wanted to break down that barrier and reclaim his world again. To scour the depths of the city on his own. To run, screaming into the night and somehow find a way to his partner's side.

  But his own words bound him. His promise to Joel to 'stay put' he would have broken in a flash. His oath to his Sentinel was another matter entirely -- one formed by honor, trust and faith.

  He shot off the bed as heavy pounding rattled the front door and the sound of Simon's voice urgently calling his name thundered through the cracks in the walls. Blair fumbled the safety chain in his frantic efforts. Banks shoved one shoulder against the flimsy panel and the scream of tortured metal and stripped screws sent the younger man stumbling back several steps to avoid the door as it crashed inward.

  "Grab your things, Sandburg, we're getting you out of here," Simon ordered tersely.

  "Where's Jim?" Blair was surprised at the steadiness of his own voice.

  "We don't know."

  The regret and concern that tinged the captain's brusque answer and the grim expression on his face made Blair's heart twist, but he struggled to retain his composure. He turned back to the bed and began stuffing items into his backpack. "You located the factory?" he asked softly.

  Simon nodded. "Yes, but by the time we'd determined that it was safe to go in, the place was deserted."

  Puzzled, Blair glanced up and met Simon's gaze. "If there was no one there, then how do you know..." His voice died and he swallowed. Hard. "What did you find, Simon?" he whispered, already dreading the answer.

  "There were partial tire tracks on the floor not too far from the main garage door. At least two vehicles had been inside. Looked like one of the vehicles was leaking oil. It could have been the car Jim's contact was driving -- the thing sounded like it was on its last legs. There was a fair coating of dirt and dust. Enough to find evidence of shoe and boot prints. Jim's boots leave a pretty distinctive pattern."

  Simon drew in a deep breath and Blair felt his stomach lurch.

  "There were signs of what was probably a fight involving several men. There was also an area of the floor near where we found the oil that had been scrubbed clean. I didn't want to bring in forensics yet, but I can only think of one reason for that much effort."

  Blair felt the blood drain from his face and he leaned against the side of the bed for support.

  "We also found this."

  Simon handed Blair a three inch wide coil of narrow-gauge wire. The anthropologist let the strand spiral out to its full twenty inch length and stared at it in confusion. "I don't..."

  "That's a garrote. High tensile steel," Banks explained. "It's the kind of thing Jim would have learned to use in the rangers. Easy to conceal. It'd be a logical backup weapon, especially if you thought you were going to be searched."

  It was Blair's turn to nod. He gathered the wire back into a tight coil and slipped it into his pocket. Given Jenson's military background, the garrote could have been his, or one of his men's, but the worried Guide's instincts told him that Simon was correct in assuming it was Jim's. The ex-ranger would have planned for any contingency, including the possibility -- no, certainty -- that Banks had just mentioned.

  Simon didn't spell it out... of course he doesn't have to... Things went to hell and Jim's either dead or badly wounded. Let's hope for the latter. Let's not even contemplate why they cleaned that space on the floor, or how much blood that meant...

  The anthropologist swallowed against the bile that had risen in his throat and reached for his headset and CDs, mechanically stuffing them into his bag.

  "Guess that explains why you practically broke down the door," he murmured as he slipped the backpack on his shoulder and looked up to meet Simon's gaze once more, struggling to project more confidence than he felt. "Okay. I'm ready. What's the plan?"

  "Joel's dug in at a motel just a block away. He'll run surveillance on this place. If Jenson or one of his men comes looking for you, we'll gather them in."

  Blair breathed a small sigh of relief. "Great. That leaves us free to look for Jim." He immediately started gathering up the insurance records. "We'd better take these with us," he muttered as he darted about the small room to retrieve the precious sheets. "I should know them by heart, all the addresses, I mean..."

  "Sandburg..."

  "... but I don't want to take the chance I forgot something, or transposed a number, you know? Now's not the time to waste time, right?"

  "Sandburg..."

  "... I figure we'll s
tart with the process of elimination thing," Blair rambled on, not even registering Simon's attempts to break into his overdrive monologue. "We'll check out the properties we know they hold the deeds and insurance coverage on. If we don't find any sign of them, then we'll just cruise the streets. I mean, how hard can it be to find a small army of crooked cops and one Sentinel in less than ten city blocks?"

  Blair's voice cracked as a wave of despair tightened his throat. Shaking his head he reached toward another pile of papers stacked on the chair near the door, only to find his path blocked and his wrist pinned in a firm, dark grip. Stunned and surprised he looked up and met Simon's determined glare.

  "You're not going anywhere near that neighborhood, Sandburg," Banks decreed.

  Blair pulled angrily out of Simon's hold. "The hell I'm not."

  "Sandburg..."

  "Don't 'Sandburg' me, Simon," Blair retorted heatedly. "I've done everything you and Jim wanted throughout this whole damn case. I am NOT sitting on the sidelines any longer. My partner's out there, and if he's not already dead, he's sure to be a corpse before the night is over. We have to find him. I have to find him. A Guide's duty is to protect his Sentinel. I let all of you sidetrack me from that obligation up until now, but no longer."

  "You go out there and you'll be a dead man the second Jenson gets his hands on you," Simon thundered. "Right now you're the only witness who can testify to everything that you and Jim discovered. I can't allow you to jeopardize the case, or your own safety."

  "I don't care about the case, Simon! All I care about is getting Jim out of this mess alive! I can't believe you don't feel the same way!"

  Banks grabbed Blair by both arms and gave him a hard shake. "I do feel the same way! But I'm also a cop and protecting you as the prime witness to a major crime is MY duty." Simon's harsh expression softened and his grip loosened slightly. "Besides, you're not the only one that made Jim a promise."

  Blair flinched at the reminder. He had promised to keep himself safe, but that was before Jim's life was at stake. Surely the Sentinel would forgive him this breach of trust -- and if he didn't? What was his soul worth if one half of it was gone?

  "I'm prepared to live with the consequences of breaking that vow, Simon," he whispered, holding his head high.

  "Well, I'm not," Banks countered, releasing the younger man. "I gave Jim my word that I'd personally take charge of your safety. If anything went wrong, I agreed to keep you out of the action. That's exactly what I intend to do. You're going to get in that car outside and I'm going to take you back to my place. You're going to do exactly what I tell you and if I so much as get a hint that you're thinking about sneaking off to go running around on your own, I'll handcuff you to the pipes under the bathroom sink."

  The older man's face was set in stone. He looked just like Jim did when he pulled his 'I'm the boss' routine. It was an expression that Blair was all too familiar with, and one that he usually had to back down from -- at least temporarily. But this time the stakes were too high to give way without a fight.

  "Damn it, Simon. Don't do this! Jim's depending on me. On us! We're the only chance he has!" Blair pleaded.

  "I'll make you a deal, Sandburg," Simon growled. "You tell me where he is, and we'll go get him. Can you do that? Can you use this bizarre connection that the two of you have as Sentinel and Guide to tell me precisely where he is?"

  Blair inhaled sharply. Banks had hit a nerve. A raw one. You don't know how badly I wish I could do just that Simon, he thought bitterly, closing his eyes against the tears of frustration that threatened.

  Tongues of flame flickered against the inside of his eyelids and he shuddered. Maybe there was a way. When he opened his eyes again, they blazed with an inner fire of their own and he barely heard Simon's stammered apology.

  "Blair, I'm sorry... I shouldn't have said that... We'll do our best to find him. Rafe and Brown are out looking. They'll call us as soon as they find anything."

  "You just made me a promise, Simon. And I'm going to hold you to it," Blair said firmly. "Let's get going. I've got some work to do."

  He strode out the door to the waiting car, ignoring the captain's suspicious stare.

  Blair didn't utter a sound during the drive to Simon's apartment. He looked out the passenger window, his vision focused not on the wet streets, but inward. Simon's words played over and over again in his mind.

  //"You tell me where he is, and we'll go get him... Can you do that?... Can you use this bizarre connection that the two of you have as Sentinel and Guide to tell me precisely where he is?"//

  I could do it... Not as Jim's Guide, but as his Shaman... if I have the courage...

  Blair forced himself to take a deep breath and released it slowly. He focused on the sensation of the air moving out of his lungs, willing the individual molecules of vapor to carry away the fear and tension that gripped his body and mind. To act as the Sentinel's Shaman would mean facing the firewall, something he'd been unable to do. There was a connection between the vision and his partner. It had been a premonition of danger -- of death for his Sentinel. He was sure of it. All he had to do was figure out what it meant and how to alter the outcome.

  He remained silent as Simon opened the door to his apartment and ushered Blair inside.

  "Why don't you try to get some rest, Sandburg," Banks suggested, gesturing toward the bedroom that Daryl used on the weekends that he visited. "I'll make a few calls and see what progress Rafe and Brown have made."

  Blair wanted to scream that rest was the last thing on his mind at that moment, but he didn't have the energy to waste on another verbal confrontation. Gripping the strap on his pack, he nodded his assent and crossed to the room that Simon had indicated. He stepped inside and closed the door. Leaning back against it, he absorbed the strength of the hard, smooth surface and inhaled the enclosed darkness, trying to settle his nerves even further.

  A flip of the switch just inside the doorway bathed the modest space in a warm soft glow. The queen sized bed looked inviting, but he had no intention of giving in to the need for sleep. He pulled the backpack from his shoulder and crossed over to the bed. Upending the bag, he poured out its contents. With trembling fingers, he sorted through the mess, selecting specific items that he tossed into a second pile. The balance he stuffed back into the pack.

  He stretched, rolling his head in clockwise, then counter- clockwise circles to loosen the tension in his neck and shoulders. Blair took several more deep, cleansing breaths and then seated himself in a full lotus on the center of the bed.

  Out of the pile he drew his CD player and the drumming disk. He inserted the CD and fiddled with the controls. Queuing up the track he'd played the night before, he donned the headset. He reached for the remaining item -- the notebook in which he'd catalogued his thoughts and impressions of the vision. He didn't need to open it to see the words that he'd scribbled on those pages. They burned in his mind like bright beacons. He could follow them to the answers he needed, if he could overcome his own fears.

  But can I?... I failed before... I couldn't face that wall of fire... I panicked every time I got close...

  An image of his Sentinel, blood pooling slowly around him, filled his mind. He angrily pushed his doubts away and began the breathing exercises that would lead him into the beginning stages of a meditative trance. Impatient, he turned on the player long before he was in the proper mindset. His body jerked at each beat of the drums. Their echoes pulsed in discordant patterns of sound and energy. He tried to mentally wade through the barrier of sound, but it twisted and enveloped him.

  Sound became flames that leaped to life, searing his outstretched hands as he attempted to force his way forward. He tried to see beyond the fire, but it was as if it filled the universe. A strangled cry was choked from him and he fell back...

  Smothered by defeat, he came out of the trance, shaking with anger. He ripped off the headset and threw the notebook across the room. He clasped his hands behind his neck and leaned forward,
rocking out the extremes of his emotions.

  Why can't I do this? What's wrong with me? he agonized.

  Abruptly, the sound of Taggert's voice filled his head. //"You're not acting like yourself, Sandburg."//

  Blair's eyes widened and he froze in mid-rock.

  The memory of sitting in his office, pondering the same thought that Joel's words evoked, surfaced -- as did the recollection of staring at himself in a mirror and seeing a stranger's face looking back.

  Held motionless by an elemental truth, he felt the world tilt dizzily on its axis again, as it fought to right itself.

  My God... Could it be that simple?

  By pure force of will he brought himself under control. He dropped his hands to his knees, turning them palm up, feeling the coarseness of his denim jeans and the warmth of his own body heat against his skin. He raised his head and straightened his back, rolling his shoulders so that he sat erect once again. Closing his eyes he breathed deeply and turned his sight inward, using the drumming of his own heartbeat to guide him.

  Calm... find your center... yours... not that of the man that you've created over the past few weeks... but yours... that which is truly Blair Sandburg's... that which is the Guide's... the truth that the Shaman requires... find the balance that you've lost... shatter the illusion... you know who you are...

  "I am friend and partner. I am Guide and Shaman to the Sentinel," Blair whispered aloud.

  The firewall filled his mind like a roaring inferno. This time he didn't flinch from it, nor did he try to force his way through. He held back, studying the flames. They hissed and danced like a living entity.

  "I know what you are," Blair whispered. "In my ignorance and fear I mistook you for death, ignoring the truth that fire also cleanses and renews, like a prairie fire bringing life out of the blackened debris of destruction. I forgot that, just as I forgot who I was. Jim warned me, but I didn't listen. I let the illusion gain substance until it was reality. I let myself believe that the physical separation between myself and my Sentinel had severed the ties that bind us. I allowed myself to listen to the pretense of the angry words between us and let them drown out the voice of my heart. I betrayed the Shaman's need to seek truth and cloaked my soul in lies."