Smoke and Mirrors

by K Ryn

  Before Ellison could attempt to move, Jankowski pressed down gently against the makeshift bandage. "Take it easy. I've almost got the bleeding stopped. You move around and you'll start it up again."

  The detective's reply was an almost imperceptible nod and a soft question. "Are you wounded?" "Just my pride," Jankowski muttered. "You're the one who needs a hospital. I've done what I could, but it isn't much."

  "How bad?"

  "Bullet went clean through. Doesn't look like it did much damage, but you've lost a lot of blood and you're running a bit of a fever. You took a nasty knock to the head, too."

  Ellison's eyes fluttered shut for a moment and Jankowski watched him closely, fearing that he'd slipped under again. A worried frown creased the detective's brow and the heavy eyelids raised once more. The old man found himself gripped in a fierce, piercing gaze.

  "Sandburg... he's not here, is he?" Ellison's voice was as harsh and demanding as his glare.

  "No, I don't think so. The guy in charge said something about sending one of his thugs out after him, but I haven't heard anything to suggest that they found him. Not that I can hear much beyond odd snatches of their bickering."

  Jankowski gestured with a lift of his chin toward the opening above the door. Ellison slowly turned his head in that direction, his eyes narrowing and his face assuming an expression of intense concentration.

  After ten long seconds, the detective shook his head in disgust. "Can't focus... can't control the dials... need my Guide..."

  Jankowski eased up on the pressure he was applying to the wound and placed the back of one hand against Jim's sweaty forehead. He pulled away and repositioned his hands on the bandage, confused. The detective's fever didn't seem to be any worse than it had been a few minutes earlier.

  "This guide that you need... what is it?" the old man asked softly, trying to understand what Jim's disjointed rambles meant.

  "Not 'what'... who... Sandburg... grounds me... guides... can't do much... without him... not like this..."

  "Now I know I've heard everything," Jankowski teased gently. "An ex-ranger admitting that he needs help from a rough around the edges kid? He must be one exceptional young man." A faint smile lifted the corner of Ellison's mouth. "He is... full of surprises... always popping up when you'd least... expect him to..."

  "Any chance he's going to materialize out of the woodwork and bring the cavalry?" Jankowski asked, half in jest.

  The smile died. "I hope not," Ellison answered grimly.

  Jankowski nodded his understanding. It was obvious that the detective cared a great deal for the younger man that he claimed as his partner. It wasn't at all strange for Ellison to wish him far away from this deadly situation.

  Jim's gaze seemed stronger as it flickered around the empty room before returning to Jankowski's face. "Where are we? Where's Jenson?"

  "Is Jenson the guy in charge?" At the detective's nod, Jankowski motioned toward the door again. "He and his buddies are out there, determining our fate. Sounds like they can't quite agree on the details. As for where we are, I think we're pretty close to where I met your friend the night of the fire. We came in the back door, off an alley. They dragged me up three flights of stairs to this room. I can't be certain about the time, but I figure that it's been close to and hour and a half since you were shot."

  "They'll have to... make their move soon..." Ellison observed. "They can't risk... waiting too long..."

  "That was pretty much my conclusion, too. Any chance you had backup that might have followed us here?" the old man asked hopefully.

  "If they'd found... the factory... they would have been here... by now. I'm afraid we're out of luck... from that quarter. Guess we'll have to... make our own. I had a second knife... in the seam of my left boot..."

  Jankowski shook his head. "They took it. Along with the rest of your weapons. The one that Jenson called Randolph did a pretty thorough search."

  Ellison's frown returned and he let his head fall back wearily, his eyes closing against the pain and the bad news. "I'm sorry that you got swept into this, Mr. Jankowski," he apologized quietly. "Once the APB was out, there was no way to cancel it without raising suspicions that we didn't want. Blair was worried about your safety. If we don't get out of here, he's going to blame himself for your death. And mine."

  The detective opened his eyes and stared up at Jankowski. Once again they were as hard and cold as milled steel and filled with resolve. "I don't want him to carry that guilt around for the rest of his life. At least one of us has to survive this. Both of us, preferably. I'm going to need..."

  Ellison's head jerked toward the door and he froze.

  Jankowski glanced nervously at the door and then back to the detective. "What? What is it?"

  "Someone's out there..."

  Blair slumped to his knees and let the pipe wrench slip to the floor from numb fingers. He stared at the man he'd just decked and tried to convince his heart to climb down out of his throat and back into his chest where it belonged. He gave the motionless body a tentative shove with the end of the blowtorch, relieved when it didn't jump to life.

  Shit... I didn't intend to play Rambo... Why'd the guy have to be standing right there when I came around the corner? Who is he, anyway?

  Still wary, Blair edged closer for a better look.

  No one I recognize... not one of the original six... Frowning, he silently addressed the prone figure. Guess I'll just refer to you as Number 8 and the guy out front as Number 7 until we're all properly introduced, which I sincerely hope will happen with you two on one side of a locked jail cell and me on the other. Now, what do I do with you? You're too heavy to lug very far and I haven't got any time to waste...

  Blair got to his feet and took a quick look around. The prior owner had made a fair amount of progress with his efforts on the third floor. Blair had found several fully constructed rooms and had threaded his way through the skeletal wooden framing for a dozen more. He hadn't seen any signs of life until he'd come around one side of a dry-walled upright and found himself face to face with Number 8, who'd been as shocked as he was. The anthropologist had struck out with his left arm, intending to try and ward off the hands that had reached for him. He'd forgotten the fifteen pounds of pipe wrench clenched in his fist. The next thing he knew, his attacker was lying flat on the floor.

  Crude, but effective -- and that's all that matters at this point, Blair reminded himself. He caught sight of a door about ten feet to his left and nodded. That looks like it might have been intended as a storage closet. Precisely what I need.

  He set the blowtorch on the floor and grabbed Number 8's ankles since they were the closest part of the man's anatomy to his chosen hidey-hole. He was puffing by the time he'd lugged the unwieldy body to the door and was grateful that he didn't have to drag the unconscious lump any further. He grabbed the doorknob and gave it a hard twist. It didn't turn. Blair stared at the ugly wooden panel in confusion -- he hadn't expected to find it locked.

  Confusion turned to irritation. I do NOT have time for this! He pulled one of the screwdrivers from his pocket, placed the tip into the keyhole at the center of the knob and shoved inward. Wincing at the sound the cheap lock core made when it broke and released, he hurriedly shouldered the door open.

  Blair turned around to retrieve his unconscious adversary and suddenly found himself grabbed from behind. A pair of strong hands latched onto his jacket and dragged him backward into the room he'd assumed was empty. When he tried to struggle free, something hard struck his ankles. He fell sideways, both feet knocked out from under him. The hammer that he'd stuck in his pocket tumbled free. He snatched it up, rolled to his knees and came up swinging...

  ... face to face with Andrew Jankowski.

  "It would seem you do pop up, and in, unexpectedly, Mr. Sandburg," the old man said dryly.

  Blair gaped at him, astonished. It took a few seconds for his brain to send an intelligent signal to his vocal chords and when it did, the result was a c
hoked, high-pitched squeak.

  "Mr. Jankowski?"

  "Given the present circumstances, I think we can forgo the formalities. I'd be honored if you and your partner would call me Andrew."

  "My part..."

  The Observer's stammered response died in his throat, replaced by an anguished whisper torn from the Guide's soul as he caught sight of the room's other occupant.

  "Jim..."

  Wide-eyed with fear, the Guide scrambled to his downed Sentinel's side. Blair reached out to touch Jim -- needing to assure himself that it was his partner lying there and not some illusion -- and immediately snatched his hand back, hissing in dismay at the sight of the blood soaked bandage.

  "Oh, man..."

  His gasped whisper was barely audible, yet it elicited an unexpected response.

  "You thinking of taking up carpentry... as a new career, Chief?"

  Blair's gaze shifted to Jim's face. His partner stared back, pale blue eyes smiling in welcome recognition. For the second time in less than a minute, the younger man found himself speechless.

  "Earth to Sandburg... come in, buddy," Jim prodded, his expression changing to one of concern.

  Feeling slightly dazed, Blair touched his friend's face, rejoicing in the warmth of the skin under the tips of his trembling fingers.

  "You're alive..." he whispered, his voice filled with relief and wonder.

  "Still ticking," Jim joked weakly. The worried Guide cringed at the pain he saw imbedded in his Sentinel's eyes, but he was too grateful for the life that emanated from them to register any complaints with the deities that he'd mentally assigned to watch over his partner.

  "Yeah, but man... you're a mess," Blair growled. "You see what happens when I let you go off alone?" The tremulous smile that filled his face negated the gruffness of his tone. "And what's that crack about carpentry for?"

  The anthropologist followed the direction of Jim's glance and realized that he still held the hammer in his right hand. Blair's smile broadened to one of his trademark grins.

  "What? This?" He waved the tool like a conductor brandishing a baton and then dropped it to the floor. "Just something I picked up along the way, like the rest of my skills."

  Ignoring Jankowski's presence, Blair dropped into Guide mode. Putting his own fears about the severity of the bullet wound aside, he concentrated solely on his Sentinel, lowering the pitch and volume of his voice to it's most soothing.

  "So... tell me how you're doing, Jim. Where are the dials?"

  "Pretty far out of whack," the Sentinel admitted softly. "I didn't know it was you out there... until you made your grand entrance."

  Blair reached out to take Jim's pulse and paused, frowning, when he saw the handcuffs. He dug out the second screwdriver that he'd acquired earlier.

  "How 'bout we try 'em one at a time," his Guide-voice crooned, while he started to work the locks on the restraints. "Start with the pain receptors. We've got to get you on your feet."

  Jim closed his eyes, opening them a few moments later when Blair uttered a satisfied grunt and snapped the locks, freeing his partner's hands.

  "Nice to know I haven't lost my touch," the anthropologist murmured. He glanced down into the Sentinel's eyes. "Any luck on your end?"

  "Down to four and still dropping," Jim answered.

  "Good. Take it to two and then concentrate on getting the audio dial under control. I have a feeling we're going to need it."

  Jim's expression shifted abruptly from pleased to troubled. "As much as I appreciate the refresher course in sensory control and the picklock service, I want to point out that you're not supposed to be here."

  "Then pretend that I'm not," Blair retorted. He tossed the handcuffs aside and motioned for Jankowski to kneel down beside him so that he could work on the old man's restraints. "With any luck, I'll have you out of here before Simon realizes that I'm not still sitting down in the car like a good Observer."

  "Simon's here?"

  Jim started to try to get up, but Blair flattened him with a glare and a gentle touch. "Just stay put until I'm finished with these, will you?" He waited until he was sure his partner was going to do as he said before returning to the task of opening the locks on Jankowski's cuffs. "Yes, Simon's here. He's taking care of some trash out in the alley. We've also got backup on the way. And an ambulance."

  "We're going to need to secure those bandages at least temporarily," Jankowski said quietly, rubbing his sore wrists gingerly.

  Blair froze. "Bandages... plural?" He turned to look at Jim, his heart stuck in his throat once more. "Where else are you hurt?" His frantic gaze raked the Sentinel's body, searching for another injury.

  "Take it easy, Chief," Jim urged. "One bullet, two holes. Front and back."

  Jankowski's steadying hand on his shoulder helped the young Guide hold off the panic that swept over him.

  "I'm no expert, but the bullet looks like it went through clean," the old man assured him. "I think he'll be fine once we get him to some medical help."

  Blair nodded, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from Jim's, nor could he seem to find the strength to move. He couldn't get the image of his partner lying in a rapidly spreading pool of blood out of his mind -- not until the Sentinel reached out and took his hand, entwining their fingers together.

  "It's going to be all right, Blair. We can do this. Together. Just like always."

  "Yeah... sure..." Blair managed a small smile. "Guess I'm going to get that downtime after all. Maybe you can milk this for a couple of weeks, huh?"

  Jim nodded. "Sounds like a plan, Chief."

  Jankowski squeezed Blair's shoulder and gestured toward the body that lay just outside the door. "Help me haul in this trash, and then I'll give you a hand with your partner."

  Leaving his Sentinel's side, even for a few seconds, was the last thing that the frazzled Guide wanted to do, but he recognized the urgency in Jankowski's voice and pushed himself to his feet.

  The Sentinel watched his Guide worriedly as the younger man helped Jankowski drag Hiller's body inside the room. Blair's presence had given him the grounding that he needed to bring his senses under at least marginal control and he used them to monitor his partner closely. The anthropologist's face was lined with fatigue and the dark circles under his eyes were a stark contrast to the pale complexion.

  Blair's exhausted. How the hell is he staying on his feet? His heart's pounding like it's going to jump out of his chest any minute, if he doesn't drop from a stroke first.

  Yet underneath the surface signs of stress there was a strength in the slim form and a sense of purpose in those deep blue eyes that Jim hadn't seen in weeks. It was as if the radiant spirit that the Sentinel had feared was dying had been rekindled.

  Or reclaimed. He's himself again. Something happened. He's fought a war and won -- scarred, but victorious. What kind of battle was it? He looks worn to the bone, but otherwise physically unharmed. One of the mind and spirit, then? Some inner conflict that only Blair could resolve? Is that the threat that I felt, but didn't understand?

  The Sentinel brought his confused thoughts to a halt. Explanations would have to wait. They were all still in very real danger. He was grateful to have his Guide back, but it chilled him to think of what Blair must have gone through to reach him. The young man had faced not only his own inner demons, but those that occupied the physical world as well.

  The Sentinel drew upon his own inner strength and fought against the pain and weariness of his injuries. He had a Guide and a witness to protect and he was determined not to rely on whatever blind luck had carried his partner safely through the ranks of nine stone cold killers to get them out of this mess.

  "Maybe I can rig something to hold those bandages in place with my jacket," Blair muttered, shirking out of the garment and moving back to Jim's side. He dug a handful of objects out of one pocket, transferring them to the front pocket of his jeans. "Andrew, I'm going to need your help here."

  The old man cuffed and gagged Hille
r before positioning himself at Jim's right side, across from Blair. He eased one hand under the Sentinel's injured shoulder and steadied the bandage on the exit wound. He glanced up at Blair and signaled his readiness.

  "Okay, Jim," Blair murmured, sliding his arm under his partner's good shoulder for support. "We're going to sit you up. Just concentrate on breathing, all right?"

  Jim nodded. "Let's do it." He concentrated on holding the pain dial level as the two men lifted, physically doing what he could to assist their efforts. He managed to choke back all but a small grunt as agony surfed through his body at the change of position. Blair wrapped both arms around him for a moment and anchored him against a tide of dizziness.

  "You're doing great, big guy." His Guide's tone was filled with encouragement, but the younger man's eyes broadcast fear and regret at having caused his Sentinel additional pain.

  "So are you," Jim responded. "The jacket's a good idea... use the sleeves like the ties on a sling..." "Got ya," Blair muttered as he wrapped the garment around his partner as instructed and tied off the sleeves. The hastily rigged support trapped Jim's right arm across his chest, but it held the bandages in place. "This should do it 'til we get out of here. Ready for the full upright position?"

  Jim was standing a few seconds later, leaning into the support of his Guide. Blair's arm tightened around his waist. With his arm draped over the younger man's shoulder and his wrist locked in the anthropologist's firm grasp, the Sentinel drew upon the offered strength and adjusted the mental sensory dials once more. He smiled, grimly. His control was back, but the blood loss had drained him, making him dangerously weak. Resolutely pushing that frailty aside, he concentrated on the rough voices of Jenson and his men.

  "Sounds like they're winding down their argument," he reported. "Time to go."

  "We're closest to the back stairs," Blair murmured as he guided them out of the storeroom. "Hold on just a second." The Sentinel raised one eyebrow curiously as his Guide leaned over and snagged a small acetylene torch from the floor. Blair hefted it in his right hand and shot Jim a grin. "Can't forget my backup weapon."