Ares Bugle

by Cindy Combs

  Author's notes: Ares Bugle is a sequel to 'The Maze', 'Control', and 'Coatlicue' which are Sentinel/MacGyver crossovers. Since this story makes references to the previous ones, you may wish to read the others first.

  For those of you who are familiar with my work, a couple caveats: When I first started, I decided to stick with adventure/suspense stories with only a few minor injuries to the main characters. However, this story blossomed into more. It is longer than the others, containing more angst, more revelations, more misery to Blair than normal, and hopefully more tension and adventure. There is a small casualty in this story, but I promise it is not permanent. (Just so no one panics at this point, I assure you no one dies, and Blair is not critically injured by any means. I will leave those stories to others who are much better at it than I.)

  While the Bitterroots and Grangeville are real places, the characters and establishments I have set there are totally from my own imagination.

  I do want to extend my thanks to: Marsha, whose suggestions led to the opening scene and choosing the villain; Sharon, for her pep talks and continuing support; Zadra, for humor, support, and helping me hammer out the details of a certain long-ago affair; Laura P., for great comments and suggestions; and to superbeta and editor Tonya, for without whom this series would be less readable and probably not even posted.

  Please send any comments to spacecloud@juno.com

  Enjoy the ride.

  Disclaimer: Most of characters are not mine. I'm borrowing them out of deep reverence, affection and respect. I will accept only personal fulfillment, and no monetary gain. If you do sue, you will not get much, and I will send over my Black Lab mix, who will stare at you pathetically for hours, and probably con you out of all your food.

  Rated PG-13, a little violence, but mostly for language.

  ARES BUGLE

  C. L. Combs

  Saturday, Near midnight, Rainier University Campus

  "Oh, man, Blair. That was SO cool!"

  Blair Sandburg smiled at Daryl Banks as the teen tried to make out the signatures on his program in the dim street light.

  "Frog Jackson had just the sweetest moves tonight. I still can't believe you know him."

  Blair chuckled, then swallowed against his increasingly sore throat. "Like I said, he's one of my best students. If he doesn't make the pros, he'll make a good anthropologist."

  "He'll make the pros, especially with that jump shot," Daryl declared, dark eyes glowing. "And remember the move Anson Carter made on that skinny NWS guy for the winning point? He was BAD!"

  Daryl's enthusiasm widened Blair's smile. Inviting the teen along when Jim and Simon were called into work had been a great idea. Not only had the basketball game between Rainier University and Northern Washington State been exciting, he had been able to introduce Daryl to the players afterwards. Rainier's star forward was very fond of his intro. teacher, paving their way into the locker room. Blair started to comment, then cleared his throat again.

  Daryl suddenly looked up. "You aren't getting that flu, are you?" he asked.

  Blair shrugged. "Considering that most of the student body and the police force has had it in the last few weeks, I guess it was just a matter of time."

  For the first time since his father had told him he had to work that night, Daryl frowned. "We better get you home, man. That stuff knocked me out for nearly a week."

  Blair sighed, remembering how miserable his roommate had been with it the week before. "Oh well, guess Jim gets payback now for being so grouchy while he had it."

  Daryl chuckled. "I honestly can't see you getting that bad." His father had told him horror stories about how rude Jim got when he was sick.

  "I can try." Blair spotted his Volvo a block ahead and pulled out his keys. At that moment, a man in dark clothing separated himself from the bushes and grabbed Blair's arm.

  "Hey!" Daryl shouted as a man from the other side grabbed him.

  "You will come with us," the one holding Blair growled. Blair tried to pull away as he and Daryl were herded towards a waiting van.

  "Who are you?" Daryl's eyes frantically switched from one to the other.

  "Quiet! You will learn to respect the Sun Rise Patriots!" He shoved Daryl in front of him.

  At the name, Daryl gasped, and Blair reacted. Shoving his shoulder into his captor while tripping Daryl's, he shouted, "RUN!"

  Daryl instantly turned and jumped over the fallen man. Using a spurt of fear-inspired adrenaline to drive his growing legs, he raced back towards the arena. Blair had taken two steps in Daryl's wake when something hit him hard from behind, driving him to the ground.

  Sunday, 12:54 am Rainier University campus.

  As he pulled his truck into the parking lot, Detective James Ellison could see the flashing lights and activity of a crime scene. A crime scene that involved his partner and his friend's son. Trying to ignore the icy fear plunging into his gut, Jim stepped out and walked over to where Captain Simon Banks was giving Daryl a bear hug.

  "Honest, Dad, I thought he was right behind me. Right behind me!"

  "Easy, son, easy," Simon murmured, trying to comfort him.

  Jim gently laid a hand on Daryl's back. "Can you tell me what happened?"

  Daryl pulled back from his father, wiping his wet eyes with the heel of his hand. Taking a deep, shaky breath, he quietly told his father and Jim about the attack. Jim was barely aware of Suzanne Tomacki, chief of campus police, slipping in quietly behind them to listen.

  "... so, the coach and a couple players let me back in the stadium and called 911. Honest Jim, I thought Blair was right behind me."

  Gently rubbing the teen's arm, Jim asked, "That's okay Daryl, he probably was." Jim fought to keep his imagination from filling in gruesome possibilities. "Do you have any idea who did this?"

  Jim saw fear leap into Daryl's eyes. Simon wrapped his arm tighter around his son's shoulder's as he felt the young man start to shiver. "They, they said, that, that we needed to respect the Sun Rise Patriots."

  "Damn," Simon whispered as he immediately pulled Daryl into another hug.

  Jim turned and slammed a fist into the nearby emergency van. Suzanne jumped back, warily watching her friend. "Who are the Sun Rise Patriots?"

  Eyes closed, Jim leaned his head against the van for a moment. By concentrating on his throbbing hand and taking a deep breath, he was able to push back the anger and fear he felt. He quietly turned back to Suzanne. "They are a militia movement we have dealt with before."

  Suzanne's eyes grew more concerned. "Then is this a general hate crime or specifically targeted at you?"

  Glancing at the scared teen next to them, Jim tilted his head towards the police line, indicating to Suzanne a need to talk privately. After a couple steps, Jim continued. "Probably targeted at us. Last time they took over Police headquarters. They killed six people and took hostages, including Daryl. Blair managed to evade their initial sweep, knocking out two of their men before he was caught. Simon and I were able to slip in through the sewer system and rescue the hostages. The leader, dragging Blair along, nearly escaped by helicopter." Jim sighed, remembering how close he had been to losing his guide so early in their partnership. "Thanks to Blair, we were able to get the copter back and arrested all of the members, including the leader Kincaid. Or least we thought we did."

  "Meaning this group is probably holding a grudge against you and Banks," Suzanne added, trying to read through the worry on Jim's face.

  "Sandburg, too, perhaps even more so. In spite of being everything Kincaid hates, Blair was able to put a real hole in his plans. Kincaid seemed especially vindictive towards him at the trial."

  Suzanne tried to conceal a shudder. As a woman of Asian descent working in law enforcement, she too, had had to deal with bigotry and hatre
d. She could easily imagine how much a militia leader would hate a long-haired, grunge-looking Jewish man who had been able to get the best of him. No wonder Ellison looked so grim.

  Ducking under the yellow tape, Jim spotted Blair's car.

  "Probably staked it out and waited for them," Suzanne stated quietly.

  Jim nodded. "Which means they must have been keeping track of Blair and/or Daryl for a while. I was suppose to go with Blair tonight, but we have been so short-handed at the station due to the flu, I had to go in." Jim felt another surge of anger, this time at himself. If he had been with Blair instead of Daryl, his partner wouldn't be missing.

  Shoving aside his emotions, Jim quietly knelt down and scanned the area with his heightened senses. He noticed a tiny spec of blood on the sidewalk. Focusing on smell, Jim realized it was Blair's. How did it get there? Reviewing Daryl's story, Jim stood up. Ahead of him was the forensic team photographing the tire prints. Detective Rafe, who had been talking to one of the officers, noticed Jim and walked over. Jim slowly turned around, searching for any clues. A twinkle in the grass caught his eye. Kneeling down to investigate, Jim felt his control waver when he recognized it.

  "Here," Rafe said quietly, handing Jim an evidence bag. "What is it?"

  "Blair's keys," Jim stated, struggling to keep his voice neutral. Seeing the familiar ring of keys with the tiny lantern drove home that his guide had indeed been abducted, by a group who had no qualms in killing those in their way. Lightly, Jim traced a new crack down the side of the lantern.

  Rafe daringly squeezed Jim's shoulder. Normally, he wouldn't even dream of comforting the tough senior detective. But Ellison must be worried sick over Sandburg, who was like a kid brother to him. Hell, Rafe was worried, too. He liked the energetic, intelligent grad student, and his effect over the department's supercop.

  Jim stood and sealed the bag. He looked at Rafe. "I thought you were still out with the flu."

  Rafe shrugged. "Doc wanted me to stay home another day, but when I heard about Sandburg..."

  Jim gave him a weak smile in thanks, realizing Rafe still looked pale. Then he noticed Simon and Joel Taggart walking over. Guess all the troops were coming out.

  "Jim, we got more bad news," Simon stated, then waved at Taggart to continue.

  Joel took a deep breath and explained, "We just got word. Kincaid and a few of his men escaped from prison this morning."

  "WHAT!" Jim roared. "Why weren't we informed!" With just a bit a warning, he would have made sure neither Blair nor Daryl were out alone.

  Frustration shone from Taggart's brown eyes. "Apparently, the main people in the fed office are out with the flu. The temp didn't realize it was important." Joel's own memories of Sandburg lying to keep Kincaid from killing him were replaying in his mind. The kid wouldn't be able to bluff his way out of this one.

  "Damn!" Jim turned and walked a few feet away. Staring into the dark, Jim fought to regain control. Yelling at his friends wouldn't do any good. Yet the thought of Blair at the mercy of that cold, home-grown terrorist terrified him.

  His senses were just starting to fuzz out, when a strong hand gripped his shoulder. Joel's gruff voice pulled him back. "We'll find him, Jim."

  "Blair could be dead by now," Jim stated, his voice barely in control.

  Joel shook his head. "No, that doesn't feel right. If Kincaid just wanted him dead, they wouldn't have tried to abduct Daryl, too. For some reason, they want hostages."

  Jim rubbed his eyes with his hand, trying to clear his thinking. "But why? To get back at me? At Simon?"

  Joel shrugged. "I'm sure we will find out soon enough. Only instead of two hostages, they just have one. That alone should keep Blair alive long enough for us to find him."

  Jim gave Joel's arm a light squeeze. They would find him. They had to.

  Sunday, Predawn, near Sun Rise Patriot's base

  A sudden turn slammed Blair into a corner, abruptly jerking him out of a doze. He shivered as he huddled between two crates and the metal truck side. Moving his numb fingers and scraped hands, duct taped behind his back, he again tried vainly to free himself. It seemed like he had been stuck in the dark for hours. Blair wasn't even sure if they were in Washington State anymore. Hell, he wasn't even sure if they were still in the country. From the way the truck was rocking, though, they certainly weren't on pavement. Blair briefly laid his head against one of the crates, trying to swallow against his raw throat. His head ached, but Blair wasn't sure if it was stress or flu. God, what an awful time to get sick.

  The truck braked to a stop, sliding Blair into the other crate. The loud screech as the door opened warned him of company. Heavy footsteps walked back to where Blair sat, studying his knees and trying not to shiver. A long, wicked knife sliced the duct tape bonding his ankles. Blair looked up into the face of a huge man glaring disgustedly at him. The man grabbed his arm, forcefully hauling him to his feet. "Move it, Jewish scum."

  A biting remark about Neanderthals tried to rise to his lips, but Blair's throat hurt too much to let it pass. Struggling to make his cold, numb legs walk, Blair was pushed to the end of the truck, then dragged off by two more large militia men. He was forced to walk between them, quietly memorizing his surroundings. They were in the mountains, surrounded by trees. The branches probably helped to hide the military-style compound surrounded by a high wire fence. Freedom laid outside that fence. Blair just had to find a way to get there.

  Pushing and pulling their prisoner, the Sun Rise Patriots walked into one of the larger wooden buildings. Blair steeled himself for whatever horrors may await him. Still, he was shocked to discover who sat at the desk. "Kincaid?" he questioned hoarsely. "Aren't you suppose to be in prison?" Suddenly, he felt even colder than before.

  The goon on his right tightened his hold on Blair's upper arm and shook him. "Shut up, Scum, and show some respect."

  Kincaid stood up and walked leisurely around to face his prisoner. He paused, studying the man before him. Blair stared back defiantly, trying not to let his fear show.

  Suddenly, Kincaid slammed a fist into Blair's stomach. Leaning forward and gasping in pain, Blair felt his knees buckle. Only his guards' tight grip on his arms kept him to his feet. A hand dug into his hair, and yanked his face up to meet Kincaid's. "That was for taking out two of my men," he stated coldly. Blair couldn't prevent a soft cry from escaping when the fist again punched his abdomen. "That was for lying to me." A third punch again slammed into him. "That was for helping young Mr. Banks to escape." The hand moved to grasp his shoulder and hauled him up from his bent position. "And this is for shoving me out the helicopter." Blair crumpled as the fist hit his cheekbone. Stunned, he barely heard Kincaid order, "Shove him in the closet over there. We have a couple more hours before calling Ellison."

  The guards shifted their grip to under his arms, dragging Blair across the floor and shoving him roughly into a closet. Once the door was slammed shut and locked, Blair gently drew his knees to his body, trying to ease the throbbing in his gut. "God, Jim, what kind of a mess did I get us into this time?" he wondered silently.

  As he floated into darkness, he faintly heard Kincaid's voice. "Has contact been made with that computer nerd, Dexter Fillmore..."

  Sunday, 7:05 am, Ellison's Loft

  Taggart quietly opened the door for Simon. Looking around, Simon spotted Rafe stretched out on the couch asleep, blanket tucked around him. However, he didn't see the person he was searching for. Glancing to the bedroom above, he whispered, "Where's Ellison? Is he managing to get some sleep?"

  Joel shook his head. "He is out on the balcony. I have tried several times to talk him in to coming inside, but he just stands there freezing his butt off. It's like he is standing vigil until Blair comes home."

  "Damn," Simon muttered, rubbing his own tired eyes. "Guess it is my turn." He walked over to the glass doors and stepped outside.

  Ellison was standing with his arms crossed, one hand holding a coffee mug. He was staring so hard over the city, S
imon was afraid he had zoned out until a quiet voice asked, "Did you get Daryl settled at the safe house?"

  So that is how we'll play it. "Yes, we grabbed some of his things, called his mother, and met Monroe and Evans there. He was trying to sleep when I left. He's still upset about Blair, though. Told me he felt that he should have stayed and helped him."

  Still staring at the hint of color in the sky, Jim shook his head. "No, he would have been caught, too. Blair would have wanted at least one of them to escape."

  Would have wanted Daryl to escape. Simon felt a tremendous amount of gratitude toward the young police observer who had sacrificed himself for his son. Yet it was Blair that Kincaid had the grudge against. Simon feared for the young man's life, especially after the new information his son had given him. "I have some more bad news." Jim glanced at Simon, steeling himself.

  "Daryl said that Blair wasn't feeling well after the game. Thought he might be getting the flu."

  Jim released a long breath, then raised a hand to rub his forehead. "Just Blair's luck, to avoid getting that crud up until he gets abducted." Jim closed his eyes as his worry increased. He himself had been sick in bed for several days with the latest strain. How would being sick affect his normally resourceful friend? If only Blair could be sick in his own bed in his own room. At this moment, Jim would be glad to make him all the teas and herbal remedies his roommate could consume. "God, Simon, we have got to get him out of this."

  Simon gently squeezed his shoulder. "We will. As soon as we get something to work with."

  At that moment, Jim's cell phone rang. Jim and Simon traded glances, then stepped back inside. Joel was signaling for the attempt to trace, while Rafe, rubbing sleep from his eyes, was stationed at the scanner ready to record. On the second ring, Jim nodded to his friends and answered, "Ellison."

  "Detective Ellison. Nice to speak with you again."

  Jim's jaw tightened as he recognized Kincaid's voice. "Where's Sandburg?"

  "He is right here under my watchful eye. You can join him if you follow my instructions."