Author's note: Despite the title, this IS NOT A DEATH 
STORY--I'm not sure I'm capable of writing one of those. So 
don't let the name scare you off.

This was my first attempt at Sentinel fanfiction. Begun after I'd 
seen only a few episodes from the second season, the story was 
shelved for months. As a part of my New Year's resolution to 
finish something that I'd started in '97 before beginning 
anything new in '98, I pulled this one out of the files.

It needed some major rewriting and updating, but the story 
remains pretty much intact to what it was when it started out. 
There is some violence, some angst and of course, some 
smarm. It's not my most inventive work, but I hope you
enjoy it--it's a pretty fast read.

There are a few additional notes at the end that explain a 
couple of other points. I've placed them there in order to keep 
the story tone intact and not ruin the surprises. If you're one of 
those people who read the last pages of a mystery first, then be 
my guest. 

Disclaimers: The usual ones: I don't own the characters, I made 
no money from this and don't plan to. I did get the satisfaction 
of making good on my New Year's resolution only a few days 
into '98, so I figure I can coast now from here--that's personal 
gratification and not monetary folks! <g>

All mistakes are mine and feedback is always welcome:  
kdkm@aol.com

**************************************

Death Song

By K. Ryn



Jim Ellison flung open the doors to the ruined apartment 
building, his mood as black as the charred wood that still 
smoldered inside. A few seconds later, Blair Sandburg 
emerged, trailing in his partner's wake.

"Spontaneously combusting lighters, lethal steak knives, 
exploding gas stoves...You know, Jim, this is wild."

"I'm not sure that's the word I'd use," Jim growled. He glanced 
back over his shoulder as he led the way to where he'd parked 
the truck and Blair flinched at the animosity in his friend's 
expression. "Unless by *wild* you mean out of control."

"Okay, maybe *weird* is a better choice," Blair admitted. "I 
mean just think about it. Three incidents, in three days, 
happening to three people we know. If that doesn't stretch that 
laws of cosmic coincidence, I don't know what does."

"It doesn't stretch anything if it's not coincidence," Jim said 
grimly.

His comment stopped Blair in his tracks. He stared at the 
Sentinel, considering the older man's words, then shook his 
head. "Makes more sense to blame it on the full moon, man. 
This stuff can not be connected."

Jim stopped and turned, his foot on the curb. He glanced back 
toward the building where his friend Carl Jorgenson had lived 
and shook his head, frowning.

"But how?" Blair asked. "Simon's lighter suddenly explodes 
burning his hands, Cassie is attacked by a guy with a serrated 
steak knife when she leaves the station, and Jorgenson's gas 
stove develops a sudden leak starting a flash fire that he barely 
escapes. What ties them all together?"

"I don't know," Jim answered softly, the frown shifting to an 
expression of puzzlement.  "There's something...something 
about each one that's familiar. Something I know I should 
recognize."

"Well, Carl's lucky you were here. He never would have made 
it out of there without help." Blair had only met Jorgenson a 
few times, but he knew from Jim's comments that the man had 
been a respected cop before an arrest had gone bad and a bullet 
in his spine had ended his career. He shivered, envisioning the 
handicapped man trying to get his wheelchair out of the  
building as flames roared around him.

"Maybe that's the connection," Jim muttered.

"What?"

"I know all three of them and I was there just as each incident 
happened."

"Now that's *got* to be a coincidence," Blair objected. 

"Maybe..."

Jim's voice faded off and he stared at the apartment building 
again. Blair could feel the tension smoldering in his partner. 
He eyed the older man anxiously, wondering what was going 
through the Sentinel's mind, watching for the warning signs of 
a zone-out. Dealing with the fallout from the last three days 
had been hard enough. Now it sounded like he was taking it 
personally, even blaming himself for the bizarre events. Blair 
breathed a sigh of relief when the older man finally moved.

"Let's get back to the station," Jim said, stepping off the curb 
and heading across the street. "There are some things I want to 
check out."

Blair nodded and followed, jogging a few steps to catch up. As 
he approached the truck, he caught an odd reflection on the 
passenger-side door and slowed, studying it distractedly. It was 
vaguely familiar, he realized and distinctly out of place. He 
glanced down at the pavement and saw the source of the image.

"Talk about weird..."

"What was that?" he heard Jim call out from the other side of 
the truck.

"Weird...this has got to top it," Blair answered absently, now 
intent on following the trail of crudely drawn characters 
toward the middle of the street. 

"Chief, what are you talking about?" Jim asked, easing into the 
driver's seat.

"This graffiti," Blair called back, crouching down and staring 
at the writing on the pavement. "I'd swear it's Peruvian...it 
almost looks like Hibani script. I mean, it can't be...but I'd 
swear it is."

***************************

Jim's senses tingled with a forewarning of danger at Blair's 
words. *Danger from where?* He shifted in the seat, catching a 
glimpse of his partner's crouched form in the truck's side 
mirror.

***************************

Unaware of Jim's anxiety, Blair's attention remained focused 
on the concrete. He put his finger to one of the symbols and 
traced it, fixing it in his mind to check later. When he pulled 
his hand away he rubbed his finger to his thumb. "This is still 
wet. Someone painted this not very long ago. Truly weird. Just 
like everything else that's been happening."

***************************

Jim's premonition of danger crystallized as he caught a flicker 
of movement in the mirror--a car had appeared out of nowhere 
and it was headed directly toward Blair.

"Sandburg, MOVE!" Jim called out, already vaulting out of the 
driver's door.

Rounding the front end of the truck, he saw Blair's head lift in 
startled surprise. Jim was moving as fast as he could, but his 
mind screamed the reality that he'd never get to the younger 
man in time, that the car was moving too fast. He watched Blair 
lurch to his feet and turn toward him, the awkward movement 
throwing the anthropologist slightly off balance. Jim's breath 
caught as his friend stumbled and dropped to one knee. At the 
last minute the vehicle swerved and Blair managed a desperate 
lunge before the car clipped him. The force of the impact sent 
him flying across the pavement and he crashed heavily into the 
side of the truck, crumpling to the ground.

Jim was at his side almost as he landed, the Sentinel's eyes 
flickering once to the car as it sped away, hoping to get a 
license number. He strained his sight to the limit, but there was 
no tag to see, no identifying marks other than the make and 
model of the vehicle.

A groan brought his attention back to Blair.

"Easy..." Jim gripped the younger man's shoulder firmly, trying 
to keep him from moving, but Blair moaned and pulled away, 
as if he was still trying to get out of the path of the oncoming 
car. "Chief, it's over..." Jim said soothingly. "Do you hear me? 
The car's gone."

Blair stopped resisting as Jim's words finally sank in. 
"What...happened? Where'd it come from?"

"I don't know, buddy. Take it easy. Just breathe."

Blair started to comply with the order and nearly doubled over 
from the pain. Jim pulled his shirt open, wincing at the sight of 
the bruises already forming along his friend's left side.

"You're going to be all right," Jim announced, hoping that his 
voice sounded more confident than he felt. "Relax...try to 
breathe as shallowly as you can."

"Oh, man...Jim...it hurts..." Blair whispered weakly, his body 
starting to tremble as the shock set in.

"Stay with me, Chief," Jim ordered, pulling his cell phone from 
his jacket pocket and punching in 911. "This is Detective 
Ellison. I need an ambulance at 1040 South Main, now. I've 
got a hit and run victim who needs immediate medical 
assistance."

"Ambulance is on the way," the dispatcher replied. "Do you 
want police backup?"

Jim looked over his shoulder toward where the speeding car 
had disappeared and his face grew hard.

"Yes. And contact Captain Banks in Major Crimes. He can 
reach me at this cell number." Jim set down the phone, shirking 
out of his jacket and placing it over his shivering partner.

"Just hang in there, Chief," he whispered, holding his friend 
firmly, as if he could will his own strength into Blair's battered 
body. 

Blair stared up at him, eyes wide with pain as he strained to 
draw enough breath to speak. "...Jim..."

"Don't talk," Jim ordered, waving him off. "Breathe...stay with 
me, now...  help's on the way."

***************************

Two squad cars arrived just as the ambulance did. Jim stayed at 
Blair's side until one of the EMTs gently shouldered him out 
of the way. He backed off, watching anxiously as they worked 
to stabilize his injured partner.

One of the uniformed cops approached and Jim gave a terse 
description of both the car and what had happened, his eyes 
never leaving Blair's face. Finally, one of the med-techs rose to 
his feet, drawing Jim to his side with a gesture.

"He's lucky," the technician reported. "His vitals are stable and 
there's no sign of internal bleeding. We're ready to move him 
now. I assume you want to ride along?"

Jim nodded and turned to the officer he'd been talking to 
earlier. He outlined what he wanted done with the scene and 
reminded them to call in forensics. Satisfied that things would 
be covered, he climbed into the ambulance just as they finished 
loading Blair's stretcher. 

As he found a place to sit in the cramped space, he took a good 
look at his partner. Even with his training, he felt a momentary 
flicker of doubt and found himself wondering if the EMT had 
known what he was talking about. Blair lay strapped to a 
backboard, a restraining collar wrapped around his neck, an
oxygen mask covering most of his face.  

Jim's concern must have been evident to the tech who was 
monitoring the anthropologist.

"He's actually in pretty good shape," the man assured him. 
"Most of this is just for show."

Jim nodded, studying the younger man's face intently. As if in 
response, Blair's eyes flickered open, the dull blue gaze 
locking with his immediately. Blair seemed about to speak 
until a spasm of pain washed across his face and he groaned, 
closing his eyes again.

"He's going to drift in and out for a while. That's a normal 
response to the trauma. Once he's been assessed, they'll give 
him something to take the edge off the pain."

Jim acknowledged the EMT's words of explanation with 
another nod. He reached forward, wrapping his fingers around 
Blair's wrist, extending his senses to monitor his partner 
himself. The slow, but even pulse under his fingertips and the 
steady sound of his Guide's breathing did more to reassure him 
than all of the medic's words. He took a deep breath and 
resigned himself to waiting, not taking his eyes off of his 
friend the entire ride.

***************************

Simon strode into the waiting room and immediately made his 
way to Jim's side. "How's he doing?"

"The tech on the scene thought that the injuries were minor," 
Jim responded, his gaze shifting anxiously toward the closed 
doors of the ER trauma room. "But they've been in there a long 
time."

Simon nodded and eyed Jim carefully.

"And you?" 

Jim looked up at Simon in surprise. "Me? I'm fine, Sir." 

"Good," said Simon tersely. "I've already gotten the reports 
from scene. Suppose you give me your version."

In quiet, controlled tones, Jim filled him in on what had 
happened.

When he was finished, Simon shook his head, muttering 
something under his breath about Blair's ability to attract 
trouble, then dropped an envelope of photos into Jim's hands. 
"Forensics shot these. This is what Sandburg was looking at 
when he was hit?"

Jim nodded, his eyes scanning the photos, the tingling 
premonition of danger he'd felt earlier coursing through him 
again.

"Sandburg was right, these look like Peruvian script symbols," 
Jim murmured.

"Peruvian?" Simon said in confusion. "What do they mean?"

"I'm not sure...I never did get very far with the written 
languages...They're familiar though..."

"Detective Ellison?"

Jim looked up and saw a doctor standing just outside the 
closing door of the exam room. He rose to his feet and crossed 
over to the man, shaking the extended hand.

"I'm Dr. Harrison. I'm the attending on your partner..." he 
paused, glancing down at his chart for a moment. 

"Sandburg," Jim prompted. "Blair Sandburg."

"Yes. Well, we've finished with him. He's got several minor 
fractures of the left ribs, but there's no sign of internal injuries. 
Neural scans came back clean as well. I'll write a prescription 
for a mild pain killer that he can take for the next 24 hours. 
After that all he should need is some aspirin."

Jim and Simon exchanged a quick smile of relief as the doctor 
continued.

"He's going to need to take it easy for a few days. I'd like to 
keep him overnight for observation. After that I'm assuming 
that you can keep an eye on him?"

"If anyone can," Jim nodded, smiling.

"They're going to move him upstairs in a few minutes, but you 
can go in and see him now."

"Thank you, doctor," Jim said earnestly, shaking the doctor's 
hand.

"I'm the one who should be thanking you, detective. From what 
I heard, your quick actions kept him from worse injury. He's 
lucky you were there."

Jim's eyes widened in shock. The doctor was already walking 
away, unaware of the affect of his words, but Simon saw the 
strange look on his face and grabbed his arm.

"Jim, what is it?"

"I was there...Just like the others..."

"What are you talking about?" 

"This was no accident," Jim said grimly. "None of them were. 
They're tied together--your lighter exploding, Cassie's assault, 
the gas fire, and now this attack on Blair. Someone's targeting 
people close to me."

"That's a stretch Jim," Simon cautioned. "There's no real proof 
to suggest it."

"There's this." Jim shook the package of photos. "Look at the 
trail of symbols. It stretches from my truck to the middle of the 
street. From the *passenger* side of the truck. Someone 
wanted Sandburg out in the open where he'd be an easy target. 
Somebody who was close enough to see me get into the driver's 
seat before he made his move. And they knew him well enough 
to use something so unusual that it would stop him in his 
tracks. Simon, he'd be dead right now if that car hadn't swerved 
at the last minute."

"Let me get this straight. You think somebody planted this 
graffiti to take a shot at Sandburg, but that he's not the real 
target? Then who is? What's this all about?"

"I don't know...but I'm tied into it somehow," Jim answered. 
"I'll meet you back at the station later. Right now, I want to 
check on Blair. If he's staying overnight I'll probably have to go 
back to the loft and get his black book. If I know him, he'll 
probably have half the nurses on the floor jumping to get a date 
with him," he finished with a smile.

"I'll arrange for a guard on his room, just to be safe. And Jim, 
we're not finished with this discussion," Simon warned, giving 
him a firm look before moving off.

Jim stood outside the exam room doors for a moment, a vague 
scrap of a memory teasing at the back of his mind. The illusive 
fragment disappeared as soon as he tried to focus on it. 
Shaking his head in frustration, he took a deep breath, trying 
to regain his control before he faced his partner.

Pushing through the doors he caught sight of Blair laying on 
an exam table, quiet and still, his eyes closed. From the 
doorway Jim could see the purpling of bruises along the right 
side of his face, a reminder that Blair had been thrown into the 
truck as well.

"Next time you decide to take flying lessons, I hope you 
arrange for a softer spot to land, Chief," he said softly. 

Blair's eyes flickered open and he slowly shifted his head to 
look in Jim's direction. "I'll remember that," he whispered. 

Jim crossed the distance to the younger man's side, extending 
his senses to assess his Guide's condition. "How are you 
feeling?"

"Right now...I'm not feeling...much of anything..." Blair 
answered slowly, his voice thick. "They gave me something..."

"Probably to keep you from chasing after the nurses," Jim said 
with a straight face, although his eyes were lit with a smile. 
"They want to keep you overnight for observation, but you can 
come home tomorrow."

"Sounds like a plan..."  

Blair shifted slightly and stifled a groan, drug-hazed blue eyes 
reflecting his distress. Jim "heard" his heart beat quicken in 
response to the pain and touched his Guide lightly on the 
shoulder.

"Just take it easy, Chief," Jim warned. "You were lucky. You're 
going to walk away from this with just a few fractured ribs and 
some bruises."

Blair's eyes locked with his and Jim hoped that he would read 
the truth there.

"That's good to know." Blair's eyes closed and Jim knew that 
the drugs were taking hold by the effort it took the young man 
to open them again. But open them he did, fixing Jim with his 
"don't give me any crap, tell me the truth" expression. "Now... 
what's...the rest of it?...It wasn't an accident...was it? It's 
connected... somehow...to Simon...and the others..."

"It wasn't an accident," Jim acknowledged quietly.

"And you still think...that this somehow...revolves around 
you..." Blair whispered, his voice strained.

"What I think is that you need to get some rest," Jim countered, 
turning slightly to see two aides appear in the doorway.

"But Jim..."

"You let me worry about it for now. That's what I get paid for," 
Jim patted his arm, cutting off any further discussion. "Get 
some rest. They're going to take you upstairs and get you 
settled in. I'll be back to check on you later."

For a moment Blair looked like he was going to argue, but 
another stab of pain forced him to lay back and follow Jim's 
directions.

***************************

From the chair across the room, Jim looked up abruptly at a 
whisper of sound from the bed. Laying down the book he'd 
been reading, he rose to his feet and moved to Blair's side. For 
a moment, the younger man lay perfectly still, then his body 
twitched. An odd, contorted expression flickered across his 
face and a whispered denial passed his lips.

"No..."

Guessing that he was reliving the attack in his mind, Jim 
reached out and gently placed his hand on the anthropologist's 
shoulder in reassurance.

"No!" gasped Blair, louder this time. His eyes flashed open and 
his body jerked again.

"Blair..." Jim spoke his friend's name softly, watching as the 
younger man's eyes widened and filled with recognition that 
chased away the fear.

"Jim..." Blair stared up at him, his body tense, his eyes 
searching the older man's face. When he closed his eyes and 
took a deep breath, he immediately winced in pain. Jim 
squeezed his shoulder gently as he struggled to regain his
control.

"Bad choice," Blair finally muttered, opening his eyes and 
breathing gingerly. "What time is it?"

"Almost two o'clock."

Blair took a quick look out the window and saw only darkness 
outside. "Jim...I appreciate it...but you don't have to sit here all 
night. I know you somehow feel... responsible..."

The Sentinel didn't answer, but his face tightened and Blair 
caught the brief flicker of guilt in his eyes.

"You do...don't you? You said you thought that all of this was 
happening because of you..."

"So far I'm the only common denominator we have. I've been 
doing some digging and I'm sure that someone is targeting 
people I know--people I'm close to. What I don't know yet is 
who and why."

"Jim, I know we said that it was too much for coincidence, 
but..."

"Simon and I have a review session every Monday. He always 
lights up a cigar after we're done," Jim said grimly. "Someone 
watching me closely would know that."

"Okay...but what about Cassie? You haven't worked a case 
with her directly in weeks."

"No, but I have been helping her with that forensic evidence 
assessment for the last month. In fact I was on my way to meet 
her when the assault happened."

"Well Jorgenson doesn't fit the theory. He's not even on the 
force anymore."

"But I attended Carl's retirement party just last week. I went 
over to his apartment because I had a phone message that he 
wanted to see me. I talked to him. He's upstairs on six, still 
recuperating. He never called me. Whoever's behind this has 
been keeping pretty close tabs on me for at least a few weeks. 
They must know me pretty well by now."

Jim paused and met Blair's gaze.

"They'd know you're working with me on a regular basis."

"And it would be a pretty safe assumption that I'd be with you 
when you went back to check Carl's place," Blair said softly, 
his eyes shifting away from Jim's again as his mind replayed 
the memory of the "accident".

He caught sight of the piles of books that littered the small 
table near where Jim had been sitting. His eyes widened as he 
recognized them. It looked like Jim had brought in half of his 
anthropology research books.

"If you're digging in those, you're going to have a long night 
ahead of you. I haven't even made it through..." his voice trailed 
off as other pieces connected in his mind. "The symbols...on 
the street..." He looked up at Jim in surprise.

"You said you thought they were Hibani."

"Yeah...I know what I said, but..." Blair started to object.

"Chief, someone painted those on the street to get you out into 
the open." Jim crossed over to the table and pulled the 
forensics photos from the pile. "You're the expert, you tell me 
what they are," he said, handing them to Blair.

Blair stared at the pictures for a long time. As his eyes shifted 
from one to another a confused frown filled his face.

"Can't be," he muttered finally.

"It's a tie to Peru," Jim said softly. "It's another tie to me...to my
past...There were myths about the Hibani among the Chopec, 
but no one would speak of them."

"Doesn't surprise me," Blair commented. "I've read most of 
those reported myths. I looked into it as part of my thesis 
work, but there wasn't enough to go on so I dropped it. Found 
out later it was a good thing I did. We're talking a closed 
society, Jim. A warrior society."

"It has to track back to Peru. Something I did there, before the
crash...someone I knew there..."

"It's been what, eight...nine years? Why wait until now? And 
why the Hibani? You never had any contact with them. Jim, it 
doesn't make sense."

"Maybe not," Jim acknowledged. "What if it's just someone 
who lived with them for a time?"

"No way," Blair answered firmly. "To know this language... 
there's less than a dozen lines of Hibani script that have even 
been discovered and translated. If this was the real thing, then 
it would mean that there's a Hibani warrior here in Cascade." 
Blair paused for a moment before continuing, his face pale. 
"When I said it's a closed society, I mean *closed.*  Once 
you're in you never leave it and the only way to be accepted is 
to prove your worth through a series of killings. Not strangers, 
either--they usually demand the death of a blood relative or a 
close friend."

Jim fell silent for a long time and then shook his head.

"I can't help feeling that there's something in this that would 
give us a clue as to what's going on." He sighed in frustration, 
staring down at the photos of the odd graffiti. "Any chance you 
can translate it?"

"I can try.There's nothing in those that's going to help though," 
he said, nodding to the books Jim had been searching. "I can 
check through some of my old thesis materials. See what I 
might have hung onto. If not, I can do some digging at the 
University."

"You need something, just make a list," Jim said firmly. "I'll get 
someone to pick it up. Otherwise it sounds sedentary enough."

"Jim, you know I don't like anyone doing my research for me," 
Blair argued. "Besides you said I'm out of here today."

"With the provision that you take it easy," Jim countered. 
"Doctor's orders. And mine."

Blair stared up at Jim for a moment, eyeing his friend evenly.

"Jim, what happened...it's not your fault."

The Sentinel stared back, his face unreadable for few moments, 
then he grabbed his jacket off the chair. "Get some rest..." he 
ordered softly, moving to the door and closing it behind him 
after turning off the lights.

Uneasy, Blair lay awake for a long time, staring into the 
darkness.

**********************

Jim awoke at six after a restless few hours of sleep. He went 
through his morning routine mechanically, his mind already 
working, pushed by the urgent feeling that whoever was doing 
this was on a schedule and that with the start of another day, 
someone else he knew could be in danger.

Precisely at seven the phone rang and Jim reached for it, a 
slight smile crossing his face.

"It's a fine morning, Jimmy," reported a gravelly voice from the 
other end.

"Looks like it."

"And do you know where I'm supposed to be this morning?" 
the voice asked softly, rambling on before Jim could answer. 
"I'm supposed to be off fishing...tickling the little fishies with 
my best hand-tied flys. But where am I? Cooling my heels 
outside of a hospital room. Babysitting. I take it it's you I have 
to thank for this?"

"I'm afraid so, Dutch," Jim answered. "Sorry to ruin your day 
off. I needed someone I could trust."

"Ah, and now it's flattery," Dutch Hansen answered. "You're 
going to owe me for this one, Jimmy."

"Normally I'd say this would make us even. But in this case 
you're right. You know what's going on?"

"I know someone tried to make a hood decoration out of 
Sandburg yesterday. And I hear that some nasty things have 
been happening to some good people that you know," Hansen 
answered. "You think someone's going to take another shot at 
the kid?"

"There hasn't been a second attempt on any of the others," Jim 
replied, uncertain how to put into words the feeling that Blair 
was still in some kind of danger. "Like you said, this'll 
probably turn out to be just a simple babysitting job."

"Simple's what I like best. Don't worry Jimmy. I like Sandburg. 
He's a good kid. Still think he needs a haircut, but I won't hold 
that against him." Hansen's voice slipped out of the bantering 
tone and shifted to all business. "He had a quiet night after you 
left...no visitors. Doc was in to see him a few minutes ago. 
They're going to spring him about nine. What's the plan from 
that point?"

"He's got some research to do for me. And he's supposed to be 
taking it easy. I'll stop by before he's released and try to talk 
some sense into him. Take him back to the loft and keep him 
there. Don't let him con you into letting him go to the 
University either. He wants something, you get on the horn and
get someone else to pick it up."

"Jimmy I've had experts try to con me," Hansen chuckled. "You 
must think I'm getting old, you tellin' me how to do my job."

"I just know him better than you do," Jim replied smiling at the 
thought of anyone getting around the older cop. "Sandburg can 
be very persuasive when he wants something. Why do you 
think I asked for you?"

"He'd run circles around some of those young pups the 
department's got now," Hansen agreed with another chuckle 
and then his voice grew serious again. "Don't worry Jimmy, I'll 
take care of him for you."

"Thanks, Dutch."

**********************

Jim heard the soft shuffle of approaching footsteps and looked 
up across the precariously stacked piles of folders on his desk 
to see Henry Brown headed his way.

"Cassie just sent up the results on the abandoned car," the 
detective explained, handing off a slim sheaf of papers.

"She find anything?" Jim asked eagerly, scanning the sheets.

"Nothing. Wiped clean. Sorry Jim."

Ellison acknowledged the sympathetic comment with a terse 
nod. A black and white had found the hit and run vehicle a few 
hours after the attack, abandoned in an alley on the city's west 
side. He knew that Cassie's people had done their usual 
thorough job, and he wasn't surprised that they hadn't found 
anything that would lead them to the assailant. Whoever was 
behind the assaults on his friends was very good. He--or she--
wouldn't make the simple mistake of leaving evidence behind. 
Not unless it was something they were supposed to find.

Brown leaned against the corner of Jim's desk, his eyes 
focused on the empty chair that Blair usually occupied.

"So, how's Sandburg?"

Jim glanced up and saw the genuine concern in the detective's 
face. "They released him from the hospital this morning. He's 
back at the loft with enough bruises to keep him down for a 
while"

Brown raised his eyes to meet Jim's and the Sentinel saw a 
small smile flicker across the other man's face. "You want to 
bet on that?"

An answering grin started to form on Jim's face. "Nah. I know a 
losing hand when I see one. That's why I made other 
arrangements. Dutch Hansen's keeping an eye on him for me."

A deep chuckle erupted from the detective. "Dutch? Oh, I bet 
Hair-Boy loved that!"

Recalling the look of consternation on his young partner's face 
when the Sentinel had announced who was going to be 
"minding" him for the day, Jim's own smile broadened, gentle 
humor lighting the light blue eyes, the lines of tension across 
the furrowed brow relaxing a bit.  

"He was overjoyed," Jim responded, not even bothering to try 
to hide his amusement. 

"Yeah, right." Brown stood and glanced back at the empty seat 
before meeting Jim's gaze. "Tell the kid I was asking about 
him. And tell him that this doesn't get him out of next week's 
poker game. I'm still down a bundle from the last time. He 
promised me a chance to get some of my money back."

"Haven't learned your lesson yet?" Jim laughed. His normally 
laid-back roommate had turned out to be a surprisingly 
aggressive and experienced card player--much to the dismay of 
the detectives from Major Crimes who had thought he'd be an 
easy mark.

"Just remind him. Thursday night at my place. And tell him to 
leave his marked cards at home." 

Brown gave Jim a final grin and headed off across the bullpen 
to his own desk. The smile on the Sentinel's face faded as he 
placed the forensic report into the case folder, but the warm 
feeling of gratitude that his co-worker's comments had evoked 
remained. Brown wasn't the first and he wouldn't be the last of 
the department's personnel to inquire about his partner's well 
being. The ugly circumstances aside, it was heartwarming to 
see the tangible evidence of Blair's acceptance.

Thoughts of his young partner made Jim realize that he hadn't 
heard from the anthropologist or Hansen for a while. Glancing 
at his watch, the Sentinel was startled to see that it was almost 
noon. Frowning, he picked up the telephone, speed dialing the 
loft. An annoying busy signal pulsed across the line and the
lines of worry on the detective's face deepened. He  
disconnected and tried Blair's cell phone, only to get the 
message that the number was out of service. He punched in the 
loft number again, frustrated and becoming more concerned 
when he got the busy signal once more.

He was about to dial the operator and have them break through 
when Rafe called across the bullpen.

"Hey, Jim. Pick up line 4."

Nervously, Jim hit the button. His anxiety changed to relieved 
annoyance when he heard Hansen's voice on the other end.

"I've been trying to reach you," Jim admonished. "What's going 
on with the phones?"

"Sorry about that, Jimmy." Hansen's tone was ruefully 
apologetic. "The kid's been downloading files to his computer 
and I didn't realize that his cell was dead. I found it stuffed in 
the bottom of his backpack. Hard to believe that a grad student 
doesn't understand the workings of an on/off switch."

"When he's doing research everything else goes out the 
window--including his instincts for self-preservation. I should 
have warned you. I assume you 'discussed' that breach of 
procedure with him?" Despite the seriousness of the situation, 
Jim was grinning widely. He'd fought this battle with his 
partner too many times in the past to be surprised by it. Maybe 
Dutch would have better luck.

"I yelled and he nodded," Hansen growled.

"In one ear and out the other. I understand."

"Yeah. When I realized we were out of touch I got my own cell 
out of the unit. Don't worry, Jimmy. I'm parked out front and I 
kept an eye on the place the whole time."

"I trust you, Dutch. That's the reason I asked for you," Jim 
reassured the older cop. "How's he doing?"

"Moving at about one-quarter light speed," Hansen grumbled. 
"I don't know how you put up with it. Doesn't the kid ever slow 
down?"

"I haven't seen it happen yet," Jim responded, shaking his head. 
"Look, I'll pick up some lunch and stop by to have a talk with 
him. Something from Jacobsen's deli okay with you?"

"I'd kill for a corned beef on rye."

"Well, don't shoot before you check out the delivery boy," Jim 
chuckled. "See you in about a half-hour."


*****************************

Wheeling the truck onto Prospect, Jim reached out to steady 
the carryout containers, watching the street for a place to park. 
The empty space in front of his building would have been a 
lucky find at any other time, but now it set off alarm bells in 
his head. 

'Don't worry, Jimmy. I'm parked out front...' Hansen's words 
reverberated in the Sentinel's mind. Jim pulled the truck to the 
curb and leaped out of it, quickly scanning the area for the 
black and white before throwing open the doors of the building 
and dashing inside. Gun in hand, he took the stairs two at a 
time, casting open his senses and "feeling" for the presence of 
his Guide and the older cop.

At the top of the stairs he paused, forcing himself to play 
things out by the book. His raging emotions made his senses 
unreliable and he struggled to control the internal dials as his 
Guide had taught him. His focus improved, but his range felt 
limited. *Okay. Cop mode, then.*

Gingerly he pushed open the door and eyed the hallway 
leading to the apartment. It was empty of life, but a discarded 
cell phone lay on the carpeted floor. Back to the wall, Jim 
eased his way down the corridor, his eyes fixed on the freshly 
scrawled graffiti that marked the entrance to the loft. 

Seeing that the apartment door was ajar, the Sentinel 
swallowed convulsively against the sudden tightness in his 
throat. Sensitive fingertips resting on the door for a moment, 
Jim tried to read what he'd find inside, but the thudding of his 
own heartbeat blocked out any other sounds. 
  
Taking a deep breath, he nudged the door open, slipping 
soundlessly inside, gun raised. He let out a little of the air he 
was holding in when he realized that nothing seemed amiss--
he'd expected to find the place trashed as it had been after Lash 
had broken in. Stepping beyond the kitchen, Jim took a quick 
look around. There were papers strewn across every surface 
and open cartons of books littering the living room, but he 
recognized the chaos as his young partner's research style, not 
the work of an intruder.

But there was still the symbol painted on the door and no sign 
of the younger man, or Hansen. *Maybe there was trouble and 
Dutch pulled him out of here...maybe that's why the squad's 
missing...but why wouldn't he have....*

The sound of rustling of paper and the faint strains of tribal 
music made him wheel toward Blair's room. Facing the double 
doors he raised his gun...

And immediately released the trigger as his Guide bounced 
through, eyes closed, head nodding to the sounds coming 
through the headset of his walkman. 

"Sandburg!"

Jim's startled hiss stopped the younger man in his tracks. Blue 
eyes flew open in surprise and he took an awkward step back, 
raising his hands in a warding off gesture.

"Hey, man...what's...?"

Jim crossed the distance between them in a single step, 
grabbing his Guide by the shoulder and pulling him close.

"Oww...Jim, come on..."

Mindful of his Guide's injuries, the Sentinel eased his grip and 
looked down into the younger man's confused face. "Where's 
Dutch?" he demanded.

"He's right..." Blair's voice faded off as he glanced into the 
empty living room. Finding no trace of the older cop, the 
Observer realized that Jim still held his gun cocked and ready. 
He looked up ito meet his partner's worried gaze, seeking 
answers. "He was right here just a few minutes ago. He told me 
that you were coming. I've been camped out in my room 
downloading files from the Library's reference computer since 
we got back...Maybe he stepped outside for some air...."

Jim shook his head. "His squad's gone. And we've had a 
visitor." Steering the younger man toward the entrance, the 
Sentinel did a quick check of the hallway again before pulling 
the door open. 

Blair's face paled immediately when he saw he symbol and 
took a step backward. "God, Jim...I never heard anything...did 
he...I mean is Dutch....?"

"There's a cell phone on the floor in the hallway. Probably his. 
My guess is he heard something and went to check it out. He 
might have even thought it was me delivering lunch."

The Sentinel's jaw clenched and the muscles in his face rippled 
with the effort it took to control his anger. Not only had his 
Guide been in danger again, but now a fifth friend was 
missing.

The shrill ringing of Jim's cell phone startled them both. Eyes 
locked on his young partner's the Sentinel answered the call.

"Ellison."

"Count to four...we're keeping score...see who's knocking at the 
door...."

The voice had a distorted, mechanical quality to it. The 
Sentinel stood absolutely still, trying to concentrate on the 
sound and the words. Jim's focused, blank expression drew 
Blair to his side, one hand resting gently on the older man's 
arm. 

"That seems to be the question," Jim said quietly.

"Answers were given, promises made...the vengeance of 
memory never fades...."

A pained expression flickered across Jim's face and he closed 
his eyes, his head bowing slightly. Blair's grip tightened, 
recognizing the signs of his Sentinel's distress, guessing from 
the cryptic way his partner had spoken that the voice on the 
other end belonged to the person behind the attacks--and that
Dutch Hansen had indeed become the latest victim. 

"You're targeting my friends... Why? What do you want?" 

"Hot as fire, cold as ice....now you have to pay the price..."

"You want me...name the time and place." Jim's eyes flashed 
and his voice was filled with barely controlled anger. Blair 
shivered at the force of the emotions, but the voice on the other 
end of the line never faltered.

"And now we're up to number five...surely he must be alive..."

"Where is he? Where's Dutch?"

"Find what you fear in the mirror...the past finds it's way to 
correct the error...

"Damn you. Stop playing games. Tell me where he is!"

"Granting wishes...with the fishes..."

With that, the line went dead. Jim slowly lowered the phone 
and Blair reached out to take it from his partner's hand. With a 
concerned glance at his stunned Sentinel, Blair punched in 
Simon's number.

*********************************
 
Ten minutes later they were in the truck, headed to the station. 
Jim took a corner without hardly braking and Blair gasped 
involuntarily as shifted in his seat. The vehicle slowed and the 
Sentinel's hand was on his shoulder immediately. His Guide 
looked up to see the apology in the older man's eyes.

"I'm okay, Jim," Blair murmured, patting his partner's hand in 
reassurance. "Just take it easy, okay?"

Jim nodded and returned his hand to the steering wheel, 
clenching his fingers around it in a white-knuckled grasp. The 
detective's face was a taut, unreadable mask, but his eyes 
mirrored anger, frustration and guilt.

"We'll find him, Big Guy. Simon put out an APB, right?"

"For all the good that will do us," Jim snarled, finally giving 
voice to his emotions.

Blair actually breathed a sigh of relief. Talking was good, 
snarling he'd take. It was much better than the brooding silence 
that his partner had maintained since he'd reported the phone 
conversation to Simon. Blair knew that Jim was blaming 
himself for what had happened to the older cop, but it wasn't 
his responsibility alone. 

"Jim, I'm sorry. If I hadn't been so wrapped up in trying to 
figure out what those symbols meant..."

"You'd probably be missing, too." Jim glanced over at his 
young partner and shook his head. "You've already taken your 
lumps on this case, Chief. Don't beat yourself up over this. It 
wasn't your fault."

"I'll buy into that if you will," his Guide responded quietly. 

The Sentinel stared out through the windshield for a few 
moments, then nodded, the tension in his body easing. 

"So let's get back into the cop mindset here and start doing 
some detective work," Blair prompted. "He talked in rhymes, 
posing riddles. He must be assuming that you can figure them 
out. What was the last thing he said?"

"'Granting wishes...with the fishes...'" Jim repeated the words 
softly. Suddenly his eyes widened and he cranked the wheel 
viciously to the left.

"Hey!" Blair bit back a groan as the abrupt movement sent a 
burning pain radiating outward from his cracked ribs.

"Sorry..." Jim mumbled, scrambling to pull out his light and 
plunk it on the dashboard. "Call Simon. Tell him to get some 
units down to the breakwater pier."

Blair fumbled in his backpack and then remembered that his 
own cell phone was dead--he cringed at the memory of the 
tongue-lashing that Hansen had given him for that and made a 
silent vow to apologize to the older man as soon as they found 
him. 

"Use mine," Jim said quietly and Blair accepted the telephone 
with a nod. Within moments he'd made the call and shut the 
phone down again.

"Today was supposed to be Dutch's day off," Jim explained as 
he shifted gears and increased their speed. "He was going to go 
fishing. He always heads down to the breakwater first. If our 
man knew that...."

"That's where he might have taken him," Blair finished the 
thought. 

The next few minutes were spent in strained silence--Jim 
putting the older truck through its paces as he charged through 
traffic, Blair gripping the shoulder harness and gritting his 
teeth against the pain in his side. The truck skidded sideways 
as Jim pulled it to a screeching stop at the upper level parking 
area ajacent to the waterfront.

"Stay here!" the detective yelled over his shoulder as he jumped 
out and charged across the lot. 

He paused at the railing that overlooked a second parking lot. 
Hansen's squad car was parked near the entrance to the boat 
ramp and Jim could see the older cop slumped over the steering 
wheel.

"Is...that...him...?" asked Blair breathlessly, holding his side as 
he joined Jim at the railing.

"It's him," growled the Sentinel. "I'm going down there. Watch 
for the backup."

"But Jim...."

"Blair..." the exasperated Sentinel grabbed his Guide and 
shook him. "Please listen to me for once and stay put. You're 
too important to me to risk here."

"Okay...just be careful, man," Blair murmured, acquiescing to 
the older man's demands. "If you're right and this guy's really 
after you, you're going to be a sitting duck out there in the 
open."

Jim nodded and gave his partner a light pat on the arm. He 
jumped the rail and began a rapid descent down the boulder 
sloped hillside.

Blair gripped the railing with both hands, wishing there was 
some way that he could help, but he knew that his presence 
would only distract his partner. Right now, Jim needed to be a 
cop and that meant that Blair needed to be the observer and 
stay out of the action. 

He saw Jim reach the pavement and start across to the car at the 
same time he heard the approaching sirens. He turned to look 
over his shoulder, ready to flag the arriving officers down when 
the world exploded. The ground under his feet trembled and he 
swore that he felt the push of the pressure wave as it crested 
past where he stood. 

Horrified, he stared down at the burning remains of the squad, 
straining for any sign of his partner. Panic gave him the 
impetus to ignore the pain in his side and he launched himself 
over the rail, intending to follow the path that Jim had taken. 

Less than half-way down, clouds of smoke billowed around 
him and he had to stop, shielding his tearing eyes.

"JIM!" The scream welled up from deep inside, tearing from his 
throat, pulling at the muscles surrounding already battered 
ribs. He didn't care. He opened his mouth to call out again, 
coughing violently as the smoke filled his lungs.

He stared into the shifting deadly fog, leaning heavily against 
the rocks. He sent a desperate prayer to whoever was watching 
over wayward Guides and their overworked Sentinels for just 
one more miracle.  

And he was rewarded with the sight of Jim Ellison, climbing 
slowly toward him. When the detective was within arm's reach, 
Blair pulled the older man down beside him. There was a 
bloody gash over his right eye, and Jim seemed dazed, but 
otherwise unhurt.
 
Filled with sorrow that the explosion had taken the life of the 
older cop, Blair hugged his Sentinel to him, grateful that it 
hadn't taken his best friend as well.

**********************

Jim leaned back against one of the squad cars and touched the 
wound on his temple gingerly. Four of his friends assaulted 
and now, one dead. He watched grimly as the EMTs loaded a 
covered stretcher into the ambulance, battling against the 
confusion in his mind, trying to make sense of it all.

The ringing of his cell phone startled him and he fumbled with 
it for a moment before answering.

"Ellison."

"A fine dance, now nearly done...finished by the light of the 
next rising sun," chimed the distorted voice.

"You killed him," Jim said angrily. "You killed a harmless old 
man."

"Nothing misses...not death's kisses."

"I've had enough of this," Jim barked. "You say it's nearly over, 
then it's time to meet face to face."

"Count with me, it's time to review, go back--one, two. Back 
with me to a time long ago, where time stood so. Where 
partners closer than wives, were abandoned and lost their 
lives."

"Just tell me where," Jim demanded, his mind racing to try to 
decipher the riddle.

"We'll talk again, Jim-bo," the distortion clearing just before 
the line went dead.

Jim stood motionless in shock for a long moment, the sound of 
the voice echoing in his memory--seeing a face that should be 
long dead. Suddenly the words of the riddle rippled through 
his mind again.

"...time to review, go back one, two... Review what? The 
attacks? Simon was the first, Cassie the second, Jorgenson the 
third, Blair the fourth and now Hansen the fifth," he thought 
quickly. "...go back with me...does he mean to go back and 
threaten one of them again? One, two... that would be Cassie," 
he realized.

He scanned the area again and caught sight of the young 
woman, talking to one of Taggert's officers, a man he 
recognized. He started to breath a sigh of relief and then froze, 
realizing that he had misinterpreted the riddle.

"Count backward by two."

Jim stiffened, his eyes searching through the crowd for Blair. 
He caught sight of his captain, stalking angrily between the 
clustered cops and emergency personnel that had responded to 
the fire, but he didn't see his partner. Jim had lost track of the 
younger man when he'd gone off to find one of the EMTs,
grumbling that "It's a good thing you have a thick skull, 
Ellison. Sentinels must be genetically predisposed toward 
making their Guides crazy. You won't go see them, I'll bring 
them to you."

"Simon!" he yelled. "Where's Sandburg?"

"I saw him heading for your truck," Simon called back. 
"Looked like he was feeling a little wobbly."

Jim spun and stared in the direction of his parked vehicle. He 
focused his vision and caught sight of something hanging from 
the rear-view mirror. He bolted toward the truck, leaving 
Simon to stare after him in confusion.

Skidding to a stop, Jim was already sure what he would find. 
There was no sign of Blair, but the passenger door was wide 
open and a crumpled styrofoam cup lay on the ground. Slowly, 
his mind gripped with fear and anger, Jim reached forward and 
took Blair's reading glasses from the mirror. He spun,  earching
the area, but even his enhanced hearing and vision brought him 
no trace of his friend.

*****************************

Blair awoke in absolute darkness. Groggily blinking his eyes, 
he experienced a momentary fear that he was blind. Panicked, 
he tried to raise his head, aware of a coldness under his right 
cheek, but found his body oddly unresponsive. He tried taking 
a deep breath and moaned as a shaft of pain shot burned  
through him. Ironically, the agony seemed to clear his head and 
he had a flash of memory that made him freeze.

"The truck...the man at the truck..." His spinning thoughts 
connected the driver of the car that had hit him two days 
earlier, with the face of the man who had pulled open the door 
of Jim's truck. He vaguely remembered being led away to 
another car, and nothing after that.
 
"Drugged...somehow..." He struggled to remember how that 
might have happened. He'd had a cup of coffee in his 
hands...and he'd started feeling woozy...the cup...where had 
that come from? Another flash of memory matched the helpful 
face of one of the EMTs at the scene with the face of the man 
at the truck.

A wave of terror swept through him. Whoever the man was, he 
was behind the attacks. Propelled by his fear, Blair struggled 
to sit up, realizing abruptly that his wrists were bound with 
something cold and unyielding. Ignoring the pain in his side, 
he tried again, intent on getting himself moving and away
from wherever he was.

An explosion of agony in his left side flattened him, leaving 
him doubled up and straining for breath.

"You're not going anywhere, kid," snarled a voice out of the 
darkness.

"Who...who are you?" Blair managed to ask as he worked to 
get some control over his reeling mind. He gasped in pain 
again as he felt a hand clench in his hair, jerking his head 
backward.

"Your death song," whispered the harsh voice.

Blair gritted his teeth, staring wide-eyed into the darkness, 
feeling the man's breath on his face. "Come to finish the job 
you started with the car?" he found himself asking.

He flinched, startled, as his question elicited a barking laugh 
from his captor. Then he flinched again as the man tightened 
his hold and jerked backward, nearly lifting him from the floor.

"Smart...a little slow...but smart...just like Ellison," the voice 
sneered. Blair felt himself shoved forward to land heavily on 
his side.

"That's what this is about," he whispered, his mind racing. "It 
*is* Jim you're after..."

Horror filled him--five of Jim's friends targeted...one of them 
killed and now he'd been taken hostage. It was a vicious game 
directed at his partner. But why? Who was this man?

"That's right. And you're going to help bring him here."

The words had barely registered before Blair felt a tug at his 
wrists--a pull that became a stronger force, drawing his arms 
upward. He tried to shift his weight against it, but felt himself 
being janked upright. He fought to jerk free, but the handcuffs 
locked around his wrists bit painfully into the skin and he had 
no leverage with his feet barely touching the ground.

"I don't know...who you are...or why you're doing this...but 
you're making a mistake...if you think he's going to risk his life 
for me..." Blair managed to gasp.

A stinging slap struck him on the left side of the face, 
whipping his head to the right.

"Don't even try to play that game with me," snarled the voice. "I 
know Ellison. He's got a code of loyalty toward his partners. 
He'll come."

"Partner?" Blair almost managed a laugh. "I'm not his partner... 
I'm not even a cop...I'm just an anthropologist...from the 
university..."

Another slap stung his face and knocked his head sideways 
again. Struggling for breath he ran his tongue along his lip 
gingerly, tasting the blood that was welling there.

"You've made a mistake man...you've taken the wrong hostage," 
Blair knew that he was pushing the man in a desperate 
direction that could cost him his life, but he also knew that he 
had to do what he could to protect his partner. The idea that he 
would be used to force Jim here, into this madman's hands was
something he couldn't live with and it was something that he 
knew the detective would very easily agree to.

"I guess we'll find out."

Blair was grabbed by his jacket  and spun forcefully to the left. 
His feet scrabbled on the floor as he tried to stop the rotation, 
but he felt a hard blow to his right leg as something struck just 
above his knee. He cried out in pain and instinctively jerked 
his knee upward, which increased his spin. He closed his eyes 
trying to fight off the dizziness as the dark room whirled 
around him. He was abruptly pulled to a stop and had just 
enough time to draw a ragged breath before he was spun in the 
opposite direction. Again he tried to stop the spin, and once 
more his efforts were rewarded with a painful blow to his legs.
 
Around and around, back and forth his captor spun him, until 
finally he let Blair's own momentum carry him to a slightly 
swinging stop. His mind and body reeling with giddiness, he 
hung there, fighting to regain some sense of control over his 
senses. After what seemed like an eternity, his mind began to
convince his body that the motion had stopped. He managed to 
raise his head slightly, staring into the darkness for his 
tormentor.
 
A brilliant flash of light seared his eyes, blinding him. He 
winced away in response, crying out when he was struck 
alongside the head. The force of the blow sent him spinning 
and his body shuddered in shock. There was a brief moment of 
blackness and then, as the light flared again, there was another 
blow.

The pattern continued and Blair's mind and body reeled under 
the onslaught. Time ceased to have any meaning between the 
agonizing flare of the light and the brutal blows that fell 
everywhere without warning.

And then a blow connected with his already fractured ribs. He 
screamed and tasted blood in his mouth. Panic filled him and 
he tried to strike out with his legs, hoping desperately to keep 
the man out of reach. 

He screamed again as the light flashed and a blow struck his 
left knee, numbing it. Another clout, this one to his head, 
dazed him, sapping him of strength and the ability to fight 
back. The blackness swirled around him, and he felt his mind 
fleeing into it until finally he felt nothing else. The last thing 
he heard was a gleeful roar of laughter that froze his very soul.

*****************************
        
Simon entered his office and closed the door quietly. Behind 
his desk, Jim sat with a cloth pressed to his head, staring out 
through the blinds.

"You should be down at the hospital having that checked out," 
said Simon, breaking the silence.

"It'll be all right," Jim turned to focus his attention on his 
worried captain. "Any news?"

"The APB's turned up nothing. They even swept the loft and 
Sandburg's normal haunts down at the University. 
Unfortunately Cascade's a big city. We're going to need 
something more to go on."

Simon watched Jim cautiously, but nothing flickered in his set 
face.

"Reports just came in from forensics," Simon continued. 
"There was some kind of a sedative in that cup we found. One 
of the swat team remembers Sandburg walking around with a 
similar cup before he headed over to the truck. That means this 
guy was there, right under our noses the whole time."

He paused, and this time Jim nodded, but still said nothing.

"Our mystery man left a set of prints behind. On the door. 
Either he's getting sloppy or he..."

"He wants us to know who he is," Jim interrupted. "He said the 
game was nearly over. Will be by sunrise tomorrow. That's how 
much time Sandburg has."

"Brown's running the prints now..."

"Tell him not to bother. He's going to turn up a dead man." 

"A dead man?"  Simon's eyes narrowed. "You know who he 
is?"

"I recognized the voice. Andrew Dirkson. I was partnered with 
him for three years in Covert Ops. Nine years ago he was with 
me in South America. It was about a year before the mission 
that stranded me there....We were running two teams. I had 
one, Dirkson had the other. There was a special op...my group
came back, his didn't. We went back in looking twice, but we 
never found any trace of them."

"So, as far as you knew, he's been dead for the last nine years?"

Jim nodded, his face grim.

"Covert Ops," Simon murmured. "No wonder he's been 
slipping through our fingers. If he's as good as you..." Simon's 
voice trailed up as he eyed Jim closely. "Is he as good as you? 
Can you take him?"

Jim met his gaze for a moment before answering. "I used to 
have an edge. I'd better still have it, for Sandburg's sake."

"I don't get it," Simon said in confusion. "If this guy was your 
partner, where's he been all this time? Why's he after you now? 
And why all this set up, if that's what it's been? Why not just 
go after you directly?"

"We were partners. We were never friends, but we made a good 
team," Jim answered softly, his eyes staring out the window 
again as if seeing into the past. "Then the Ops got trickier. 
More dangerous and more deadly. Dirkson seemed to change 
somehow, to thrive on it. He got to where he enjoyed the
killing."

Jim shook himself slightly and looked back into Simon's eyes.

"I guess you could say we had a falling out. A difference of 
opinion on how things were supposed to happen. By the last 
mission we were barely speaking to one another, except on 
duty. Even then..." Jim's voice trailed off for a moment before 
he continued. "Dirkson's part of the mission was supposed to 
be support. He didn't like the fall-back position. He suggested 
another course, but I had the command and voted him down. 
Halfway into the op I found out he'd gone ahead with his own 
plans anyway. They ran into trouble of some kind. He took five 
other men to their graves with him. At least that's what we all 
thought."

Jim sat quietly for a moment and his face grew grimmer.

"I'd guess that he blames me for what happened. Obviously, if 
he's alive, then they weren't killed on that mission. At least not 
all of them. But something happened. Maybe they were 
captured. I don't know. What I do know is that Dirkson loves 
games. That's what this has been. A game. A game with deadly
intent."

"Well, whatever his reasons, we still have to find him. And 
before sunrise. The question is, how?"

"We won't have to find him, Simon. He'll find me."

"You're that sure?"

"He's made sure that I was present or close by for all the other 
assaults," Jim murmured, his gaze shifting guiltily to the 
bandages that still covered Simon's left hand. "His vengeance 
won't be satisfied unless I'm there when he kills Blair."

Simon looked at him uneasily, shaking his head.

"All right. Contact your buddy at CIA and get a picture down 
here as soon as possible. We'll add it to the APB on Sandburg. 
Maybe we'll get lucky. Then I want you to head home, and get 
cleaned up. Take whatever time you need to get your head on 
straight about this," Simon ordered softly. "We've got a long  
day ahead of us."

Jim nodded and headed toward the door.

"And Jim, one more thing," Banks said quietly, stopping the 
detective with his hand on the doorknob. "When he contacts 
you, I expect you to contact me." Simon's eyes held Jim's in an 
unwavering stare. 

"I won't do anything to put Blair at risk," Jim answered softly. 
"Sandburg's put his life on the line for me too many times in 
the past. He wouldn't even be in this mess if it weren't for his 
involvement with me."

"I understand that," Simon answered, his gaze still firm. "I want 
him out of this safely as much as you do. But I don't want you 
trying to take this guy down by yourself. He calls you, you call 
me. I want your word on it."

*****************************

An hour later Jim made his way down to the police impound 
lot to retrieve his truck. Adjusting the driver's seat, he tried not 
to let his eyes linger on the empty passenger space. He put the 
key in the ignition and placed his hands on the steering wheel, 
jerking them back immediately. What had he felt? Tentatively, 
he fingered the underside of the wheel again, finding a series 
of tiny raised bumps. A memory triggered--it was a message 
and only one man could have left it.

"Go home," he whispered, translating the Braille-like 
characters. He opened up his senses, extending them to their 
limits,  seeking any other clues. He caught the smells of the 
chemicals that the forensic team had used when they'd dusted 
for prints; the smells of Simon's cigars; and finally, the faint 
scent of Sandburg's leather jacket.

He fingered the message again, and he wondered briefly why 
forensics had missed it, but then he realized that once they'd 
found the prints that Dirkson had intentionally left, they 
wouldn't have looked much further.

No, the message had been left for him alone, in a way that only 
he would have recognized. And because it had been left in 
such a manner, it also contained a warning. An admonition that 
this was between Dirkson and himself. Jim thought briefly 
about his promise to report any contact to Simon, but he 
temporized. He'd contact his captain, but not before he knew 
what was going on. 'Go home,' he muttered softly, turning the 
key and starting the truck.

*********************************

Jim entered the loft cautiously. As he did so, it seemed that he 
was stepping back in time, into another self that he'd thought 
he'd left behind in the jungles of Peru. Senses extended, he 
searched through the apartment, but found nothing. No traps. 
Nothing but a feeling at the edge of his awareness that
someone had been there.

Still uneasy, his eyes swept the main room again and his gaze 
caught on a pile of papers on the coffee table. He hesitated, 
realizing that the way they were stacked was in itself a 
message. He moved toward the table and without touching 
them he gazed down at the stack. The top paper was a  
newspaper circular from one of the discount stores in the area. 
He looked closer and saw one of the items circled--a  
refrigerator.

Moving quickly he crossed to the kitchen. He examined the 
refrigerator carefully and finding no visible traps, he opened it 
slowly. Leaning upright against a carton of orange juice was a 
large manila envelope. Gingerly he pulled it out, handling it 
carefully. He undid the clasp and emptied the contents out 
onto the counter.

He froze as he saw the first photograph and had to clamp down 
on his emotions in order to hold onto his control. Steeling 
himself, he spread out the photos on the counter and forced 
himself to examine them one at a time. The photos were all of 
Blair, taken while someone--probably Dirkson--administered a
beating. A brutal beating. Jim forced himself to look beyond 
the pain in his friend's eyes and examine the shots for any clue 
that might lead him to his Guide. 

Wherever the younger man was, it was dark, maybe a high 
ceiling room or a warehouse. He examined the prints 
themselves and noted their grainy quality.

'Shot with a high intensity strobe, probably on a 
timer...blacklight filter...' his mind ranged over the details, 
storing everything for reference later. 

At last he let himself look at the content, struggling to control 
his growing anger as he viewed the extent of the beating. One 
of the photos showed Blair flinching away from a blow in the 
ribs, his expression one of pure agony. Jim cringed himself 
when he realized that that was the same side that had been 
injured when his partner had been struck by the car.

Finally he looked at what he hoped had been the last shot, one 
where Blair lay motionless on a cement floor, blood coming 
from a cracked lip, his left eye nearly swollen shut, his bound 
hands raised awkwardly as if to protect his head or ward off 
another blow. Jim stared at the photo, letting the rage sweep 
through him, leaving him cold and hard. 

The ringing of his cell phone brought him back to the present.

"Ellison." 

"Find the present I left for you?"

"I found it," Jim answered tersely.

"You know, you used to have better taste in partners," Dirkson 
went on. "I've gotta tell you Jim-bo, this kid's not much on 
resilience. He never would have made it in our business. Guess 
they're scraping the bottom of the barrel for cops these days."

"He's not a cop. He's a civilian. Civilian's were always non-
combatants, remember?"

"My game, my rules," Dirkson answered with a sneer.

"How do I know he's even still alive?"

"Because I say he is."

"Not good enough," Jim pressed. "I want to talk to him."

"He's not really much of a conversationalist," Dirkson replied. 
"He didn't have much to say to me earlier, but maybe he'll take 
a moment to say a few words..." Dirkson's voice trailed off and 
Jim waited anxiously.

**********************

Blair felt himself jerked upright, Dirkson's hand clenched in 
his hair.

"Talk," Dirkson snarled. "Talk to him!"

Blair strained to draw breath into his laboring lungs, but he 
couldn't form the words he wanted to say. He'd heard Dirkson's 
side of the conversation as he'd struggled to stay conscious. He 
knew that the man was using him to get at Jim. And he knew 
what Dirkson had planned if that happened.

**********************

Jim picked up on the rattling gasp on the other end. He knew 
immediately that Blair was in severe pain and from the rasping 
sound as he struggled to breathe, he also realized that the 
young man's time might be shorter that even Dirkson's 
deadline.

A punctured lung? Jim guessed quickly, putting together the 
image of Blair wincing away from a blow to his side with what 
he was hearing.

"Sandburg, is that you?" he asked softly. "Talk to me, buddy..."

"Jim..."

"Easy, Chief. Just hang on a little longer. I'm coming to join 
the party."

"No...it's...a trap..." Blair managed to blurt out.

There was a broken, agonized cry from the younger man and 
Dirkson was suddenly back on the line. "I told you he's not 
much for conversation."

"Let him go, Dirkson. You want something with me, name the 
time and place. Just leave him out of it. You've already made 
your point," Jim responded, his eyes flickering to the photos 
again.

"You don't discard your ace if you're going to win the game," 
Dirkson murmured. "And you know I always play to win. Now 
here are the new rules...You want him, you come get him. 2234 
Warehouse Drive, nine o'clock. Don't come early. Don't bring 
any friends. Otherwise the penalty will be a gunshot to the side 
of his head."

"I want him released when I get there," Jim demanded.

"Jim-bo, it's not that easy," Dirkson sneered. "You must be 
getting soft. I said you come and get him. That's how it's 
played, remember? You walk into the maze and find the way 
through to the prize at the end."

"All right., I'll be there. You make sure he's still alive by then."

"You just follow the rules, Jim-bo. I'll be waiting..."

There was a sharp click on the line and the buzzing of the dial 
tone. Slowly, Jim closed the phone, placing it on the counter. 
He stared down at the photos, the sound of Blair's ragged 
breathing in his mind. The rage he'd felt earlier returned and he 
felt himself growing colder. Again, it was as though he'd
stepped backward in time, returning to the jungle, all the old 
feelings and habits coming back to roost. An icy wind swept 
through him and he saw himself in Incacha's hut, shivering 
with the aftereffects of shock and the injuries he received in 
the crash.

He closed his eyes and he heard the Shaman's words echo in 
his mind.

"You seek a battle and it is already upon you...the battle for the
balance...the battle between great good and great evil...a soldier 
you came and a soldier you will remain, but now focused on a 
greater purpose, your duty to the tribe...you will learn that evil 
cannot be overcome with vengeance or anger, but with 
compassion and strength of belief......see now beyond what
others see...hear what others cannot...taste the joys of 
humanity...sift through the sands of despair and find 
trust...find truth..."

The icy hold of the past released it's grip and Jim shivered. He 
opened his eyes, drew a deep, steadying breath and reached for 
the phone, punching in a familiar number.

"Simon...it's Jim...I need your help."

***************************

He met Simon at the door and gestured for the older man to 
come inside.

"This was waiting when I got here," he said softly, handing off 
the package of photos.

Simon drew in a sharp breath as he sorted through the pictures. 
His expresion grew grim as he studied them, eyeing the last 
one for a long time before he raised his eyes to meet Jim's.

"I'm surprised you called me."

"Nine years ago I wouldn't have. As it was, I almost didn't," Jim 
replied. "When I saw those...if Dirkson had been here..."

He sighed softly, shaking his head.

"It was close...the past...what I once was. Incacha said that you 
always carry your past with you. Maybe Dirkson and I aren't so 
different after all."

"Jim, what you felt doesn't make you a killer. It makes you 
human."

"I don't know Simon," he responded softly, the pain evident in 
his voice. "There was a time in my life where I might have 
looked at this situation, decided that the personal risk was too 
great and walked away, writing Blair off as just another 
casualty of war."

"You? Walk away? From something like this?" Simon asked 
incredulously, snapping the envelope of photos down on the 
counter in anger. "I don't buy it. You couldn't. And don't give 
me that garbage about you and Dirkson being the same. I've 
watched you put yourself in the line of fire too many times to 
buy into that."

Simon glared at the detective, hoping that anger would push 
Jim beyond the doubts that assailed him. For a moment he 
wondered again at his friend's past, then thrust the thought 
away. The past was the past and the Jim Ellison he knew was a 
good cop. And a good man.

He saw Jim's eyes flicker back to the photos, relieved when Jim 
straightened and the haunted look left the Sentinel's eyes.

"Now, you said you needed my help," Simon said evenly. 
"What can I do?"

Jim reached over to the counter and picked up a piece of paper. 
"I need some supplies. Can you get these without anyone 
asking a lot of questions?" 

Simon's eyes widened a bit at some of the items, but he merely 
nodded. "I'll have to take care of some of this myself. Taggert 
can handle the rest. It's his specialty anyway."

He saw Jim about to protest and cut him off.

"Taggert owes Sandburg for that help he gave him on those 
church bombings. Don't worry. He'll keep it quiet." Simon 
folded the list and placed it in his pocket. "What else?"

Jim stared at him uneasily for a moment, fighting against his 
own instinct to handle things himself. That was his old way. 
He'd changed from the arro gant,lone-wolf that he'd been. And 
this man had been the reason for a part of that change. He and 
Blair. Jim had learned to trust and depend on others because of 
them. He'd learned the true value of working as a team. And 
that was what was going to save Blair's life. Not his forcing his 
way in alone like some avenging angel.

"I need some backup," Jim said quietly. "Dirkson gave me a 
time and place. 9:00 tonight, an address in the warehouse 
district."

"You think he's there now?" asked Simon, glancing at his 
watch and doing a quick calculation--they had seven hours.

"Probably," Jim answered, gesturing toward the photos. "These 
look like they might have been taken in a warehouse. There's a 
cement floor and there's no reflective bounce on the flash. The 
ceilings have to be pretty high."

"I can have a swat team on site in less than an hour..."

"No," Jim objected, cutting him off. "It's his game, and I know 
how he'll play it. He's going to have the place rigged. If we go 
storming in there, it's not just Sandburg who's likely to die. 
The only real chance we have is to play this by his rules. I 
intend to do that, but at the same time I'm going to put our own 
game into play."

Simon looked at him carefully, then nodded. "Let's hear your 
plan."

"First we need to do some air surveillance. With some very 
special equipment," Jim explained. "WKRO does a traffic 
flyby over that area every hour. If we can get them to alter their 
flight plan just slightly, we can overfly the building with a heat 
seeker."

"What good will that do us?" Simon asked.

"From a comment that Dirkson made, I figure he's going to run 
me through some kind of a maze once I'm inside. The heat 
seeker will give us some idea of what part of the building he's 
keeping Sandburg in. That'll give me an advantage and maybe a 
way to ruin his plans."

"You mean us," Simon corrected him. "You said you wanted 
backup."

"I do," Jim said softly, meeting Simon's gaze evenly. "But it's 
his rules, remember? I have to show up alone. If not, he'll kill 
Blair before we can make it six feet inside the door. Once I'm 
inside, our game goes into effect. Ten minutes after I go in, you 
bring in the swat teams to seal off the area. If this goes down 
the wrong way, I want to know that you're out there ready to 
scoop him up when he leaves."

"What makes you think ten minutes is enough?"

"Because he's arrogant. Once I'm inside his game is in play--
he'll have me where he wants me. He'll figure to finish me and 
Sandburg off and then thumb his nose at you as he slips away."

"What if we come in behind you? We're not going to do you 
much good sitting around outside waiting to see who walks out 
the door."

"Simon, you asked me before how good he was. His specialty 
was explosives. He's going to have that place rigged with traps 
that'll be hard for even me to find. And I won't have time to 
disarm them all."

"What about a wire?" Simon countered, uneasy with the idea, 
yet knowing that Jim was probably reading the situation 
correctly.

"We can try it," Jim agreed. "But he'll probably have some kind 
of jamming signal active."

Simon stared at him for a moment, then turned to pace the 
floor, his own mind racing to come up with another alternative. 
Jim let him pace, impatient for him to agree, but also realizing 
that his captain had to have time to accept the situation on his 
own. Finally Simon stopped pacing and stared down at the 
photos on the counter.

"I don't like it," he murmured.

"Simon..."

"I don't like it!" Simon barked, slamming his fist down on top 
of the photos, his face a mix of anger and frustration. "Damn it, 
Jim, we don't even know if Sandburg's still alive!"

"He is. Dirkson let me talk to him. Just a few words." Jim 
paused, his own gaze flickering to the photos. "He's in bad 
shape, but he's alive."

Quickly, Jim told Simon his suspicions about the condition of 
Blair's lungs. 

"If we need to, we'll bring the hospital to him," Simon 
responded. "I'll make sure we've got a full med staff on hand."

Jim breathed a sigh of relief as he realized that Simon was 
going to agree with his plan. Grudgingly, but he was going to 
go along.

"I'll get in touch with the radio station and get started on this 
list." Simon patted the paper in his pocket as he moved toward 
the door. "I'll have everything here before you need to leave."

"Thank you, Sir," Jim said quietly, his mind already turning to 
things that he'd need to get ready himself.
 
***************************

Pain brought Blair in and out of consciousness over the next 
few hours. Pain and the struggle to breathe. He knew 
something was desperately wrong with his left lung and he 
found himself constantly tasting blood in his mouth. When the
darkness in his mind ebbed, he struggled against the rope that 
held him dangling upright, but that effort always sent him 
spinning and back into blackness. At times he simply hung 
there, afraid to move in case it would draw the attention of his 
captor. That had happened already--the man appearing out
of nowhere to deliver another blow without warning.

Sometimes when he awoke he felt almost nothing, and that 
frightened him the most. When he couldn't feel his legs, when 
the pain in his side had passed beyond what his body could 
encompass, then his mind filled with panic—terror he sought 
to fight by shifting into some of the breathing and  relaxation
exercises that he'd learned in his travels. But every time he 
came close to achieving some kind of balance within himself, 
he lost his concentration and felt himself fighting just to fill 
his lungs.

Finally he grew numb inside, his mind moving sluggishly as he 
stared into the darkness, no longer conscious of the passage of 
time.

************

Jim stood outside the warehouse, scrutinizing every detail, 
looking for a sign from Dirkson. There would be one, he was 
sure. One door that would lead him into the beginning of the 
maze. As he extended his senses he caught a faint gleam of 
metal and he moved forward, approaching a doorway. On the 
handle hung a headset and after checking for a trap, he took it 
in his hands, examined it and then put it on.

"Time to get started, Jim-bo," came Dirkson's voice in his ear.

"Not until I talk to Sandburg," Jim countered. "You were 
supposed to keep him alive, remember? I want proof."

"Then talk to him," Dirkson barked. "He's linked into this 
frequency."

"Blair, it's Jim...I need you to answer me..." The Sentinel said 
evenly, none of his own uncertainties evident in his voice.

There was a long silence with no response.

"He's not answering, Dirkson," Jim said angrily. "The game's 
off if he's dead."

"He's not dead...yet," snarled Dirkson. "He's just being 
stubborn."

In his headset Jim heard a sudden gasp of pain. His extended 
hearing picked up the same rasping breathing that he'd heard 
before, although it was even more labored than it had been 
earlier. 

"Talk to him, damn it," he heard Dirkson order savagely as 
another gasp reached his ears.

"No..." he heard Blair whisper brokenly.

"That's good enough," Jim responded, realizing that Dirkson 
was with his Guide at that minute and that pushing him now 
would only result in Blair being on the receiving end of further 
abuse.

"Then come inside," Dirkson ordered.

"No...don't...Jim...don't..." came a desperate objection from 
Blair, which was immediately cut off.

The Sentinel scanned the door quickly and saw a small wire 
connected to the door knob. His extended senses picked up a 
faint heat source and he pulled his hand back.

"Not until you disarm the door," Jim countered.

There was an audible click and the door popped open a few 
inches. Moving cautiously, Jim eased it open just enough to 
slip through, stepping forward only two feet into the darkness.

He heard a click as the door closed and locked behind him. Jim 
didn't have to look to know that it had been rearmed as well. 
As he stood there in the darkness, Incacha's word's echoed in 
his mind.

"The past is always with you."

Jim abruptly realized the essential element of truth in the 
words. Instead of the uncertainty and regrets about his past 
he'd felt earlier, he realized that he could use his past wisely in 
the present--take advantage of the positive things his 
knowledge and training had given him, and use the mistakes as 
guideposts for the future.

Drawing on a distant memory, he took a quick series of 
breaths. It was suddenly as if his mind was operating on a 
number of levels at once. It immediately took in the data that 
his extended senses were transmitting back to him, analyzing 
and cataloging the details for later use. 

He was aware of a quick burst of relief that Blair was still 
alive. Another part of his mind noted the fact that Dirkson was 
with him, near enough to force him to answer Jim's query, and 
immediately correlated that with the surveillence data that 
they'd gathered earlier.

It was a four story warehouse, nearly 7,000 square feet on each 
floor. The chopper had managed five passes and amidst the 
dozen or so hot spots that the scanner had picked up in the 
building, they'd identified two as human beings. One of those 
remained stationary near the center of the building on the top
level, while another showed up in different positions on each 
pass. Jim had designated the first one to be Blair, the second to 
be Dirkson moving around the building setting his traps. That 
they were together now didn't mean that they would remain so, 
but it gave him a relative target location.

The controlled closing of the door also gave him valuable 
information—Dirkson had a rigged at least some of his traps to 
operate by remote. That meant that Jim would have to be on the 
look-out not just for explosives, but for Dirkson himself. He'd 
be mobile, not just sitting behind a monitor somewhere, 
watching.

All of the input and analysis happened in less time than it took 
for Jim to blink three times and draw in another deep, calming 
breath. 

His eyes had adjusted to the darkness and Jim glanced around, 
evaluating the narrow hallway he stood in, his eyes flickering 
over a series of six closed doors.

"You wanted me, here, I'm here," Jim called out. "Let's get on 
with it."

"Still impatient, aren't you, Jim-bo," came Dirkson's sneering 
voice over the headset. "Just like the old days. Always gung-
ho. Always pushing. Always taking charge."

Jim approached the doors and examined them cautiously, 
looking for traps while he listened to Dirkson's words. 

"Your game, your rules, remember?" he asked softly, still 
moving along the corridor.

"That's right!" snarled Dirkson.

"Then tell me what you want," Jim responded softly, coming to 
a stop at one of the doors and eyeing it closely as he caught 
sight of a wire running down the side.

"What I want?" Dirkson's voice raised to an almost screaming 
pitch. "I want you to suffer like I've suffered, watching your 
friends assaulted and dying one by one, and then I want you 
dead!"

There was a long silent pause which Jim chose not to disturb, 
worried that if Dirkson was still close to Blair that anything he 
said might antagonize him into action.

When Dirkson's voice came back on the headset it was calmer, 
but still brittle with a dangerous edge to it.

"But we've got a long night ahead of us," he murmured. "And 
you're eager to get started. In fact I'd guess you've already been 
checking out the doors in front of you. Each of those doors 
leads into a very special maze that I've constructed just for you. 
You run the maze and get through it in one piece and you get 
the prize--your partner."

"And I'm supposed to believe that if I get to him you're going to 
let us out of here alive?" Jim asked, listening closely at each 
door now.

"Well, there is a little surprise waiting with him," Dirkson 
murmured. "I suppose that if you made it past that, then I'd 
have to agree to turning you both loose."

Jim made a quick mental note to remember his comment about 
the surprise and kept examining the doors, now bending to 
check the base of each.

"I'll hold you to it," Jim commented softly.

"I warn you Jim-bo, if you try to give up halfway through, you 
forfeit and so does he." 

"I'd start worrying about what happens when he's out of here 
safely," Jim responded, rising to his feet, his eyes on the door 
he'd chosen.

"Is that a threat, Jim-bo?" chuckled Dirkson.

"A promise." 

"Still playing the tough-guy, eh?" Dirkson laughed again. "I 
think you've lost it, Jim-bo. I think you've gone soft like the 
rest of those amatuers you've been hanging around with. I don't 
think you've got what it takes anymore, so I'm going to give you 
a little advantage. I'm going to activate your partner's com link 
and keep it open. I'll even get off the link except for a quick
interruption every now and then. 'Course if you want to talk to 
me, beg for a way out, for your partner's life, whatever, then 
you just give a shout. I'll hear you."

There was a pause, then Dirkson spoke softly again.

"Ready, get set..."

Jim was through the door before Dirkson finished. As he heard 
him whisper "go", there was a flash of a small explosion in the 
corridor he'd just left. Thrusting the door he'd chosen closed, 
Jim moved a few steps ahead, eyeing his new surroundings.

The corridor led to his left and he followed it slowly, senses at 
their maximum range. He edged around a corner and then froze 
as he became aware of a click and a faint sound in his earpiece.

"Chief...Blair, is that you?" Jim dodged his head around the 
corner to get a quick look at what lay beyond.

"Jim...get out...of here..." Blair whispered, his breathing ragged 
and his voice strained.

"I'm already inside and on my way to you. Just hold on a little 
while longer."

"No...this guy's crazy...he wants...to kill you..."

"I'm not too fond of him right now, either," Jim answered, 
moving around the corner and finding another set of doors. "Is 
he there with you, now?"

"No...who is he?" 

"An old army buddy," Jim answered grimly.

There was a moment of silence as Blair struggled with the 
implications of that comment. 

"Jim....listen..." Blair strained to force the words out. "There's 
no way...you're going...to reach me...he's got...this whole 
place...rigged..."

"Yeah, I know Chief. I've discovered a few surprises already." 

"Then get out...of here..."

"Not without you." Jim touched one of the doors gingerly, 
pulling his hand away quickly--there was heat there, he 
decided, moving to the second one.

He caught a whiff of something chemical and backed off from 
that door too. He eyed them hesitantly, then gave the first door 
a kick, rolling backward at the same time. He felt the heat of a 
sunburst flare and shielded his eyes, wary about losing his 
night vision for even a moment. 

"Jim...Jim...are you all right?" 

"Yeah..I'm fine," Jim assured his worried Guide, waving away 
the smoke and making his way forward through the doorway. 

A burst of coughing and a groan of pain came through the 
headset, followed by a wheezing gasp. Jim crouched by the 
wall in the next corridor, his attention momentarily focused on 
Blair.

"Easy Chief," he murmured helplessly. He could see what 
looked like a set of stairs just ahead. "Just take it easy..."

"Jim...something's wrong...inside...something's broken...when 
he hit me..." The Sentinel heard the rattling gasp as his Guide 
struggled for air again. "It's hard...to breathe..."

"I know," Jim said softly. "I can hear it. I think you've got a 
punctured lung. That's why you're having trouble breathing."

"...there's blood..." Blair's agonized voice was a faint whisper. 
"Can't get...any air..."

"Blair, listen to me," Jim said firmly, rising to his feet and 
moving forward, anxious to get to the younger man as soon as 
he could, sensing the pain and loss of hope in his voice. "I 
want you to stop talking...just concentrate on breathing, slow 
and easy..."

"...it hurts..." came Blair's response as if he hadn't heard Jim's 
words.

"You can do it, Chief," Jim said encouragingly, still moving 
forward, his eyes sweeping the corridor for any sign of another 
trap. "We've got help waiting just outside. You just need to 
hang on until I get there."

Jim stopped, staring up into the darkness of the staircase.

"Chief, you remember that relaxation exercise you taught me? I 
want you to work on it for a couple of minutes. Concentrate on 
that...but don't fall asleep, okay?"

There was no answer for a moment except for the tortured 
sound of his Guide struggling for breath.

"Blair, did you hear me?" Jim asked worriedly, eyeing the walls 
around him.

"Thought...you wanted me...to stop...talking..." 

"Smart guy," Jim answered, relieved. "Let's amend that to one 
word answers."

"Okay..." 

Satisfied that Blair would hold his own for a few minutes, Jim 
turned his attention to the staircase. Something felt wrong, but 
he couldn't place it. He weighed his options--he could either go 
back and look for another way up, or he could take this 
passage. He checked his watch and saw to his dismay that 
thirty minutes had already passed since he'd entered the 
building. That decided him.

*****************

Jim looked up into the stairwell and pulled a collapsible 
grappling hook from one of the pockets in his vest. In seconds, 
he had it hooked to the top of the railing on the next level 
above him and was rapidly scaling it. Pulling himself over the 
metal rail, he glanced down. From his vantage point he could
see some discoloration on the steps and guessed  that he'd just 
avoided stepping on some kind of chemical explosive or 
pressure mine.

"You still with me, Chief?" he asked softly, inspecting the 
single door that lead onward.

"...Yeah..." 

"Good. I'm making progress," Jim murmured. "I'll check back 
with you in just a few minutes."

Jim found the explosive charge that was attached to the door. 
He  pulled out the small case that Taggert had prepared for him 
and sweated out the next few minutes as he worked to disarm 
the bomb. He finally drew a slow breath and then gave the door 
a cautious push, opening it only enough to slip through. 

He looked around, trying to assess his surroundings and get his 
bearings. This had once been a manufacturing floor, he 
realized, staring at the odd silhouettes of heavy equipment. 
Glancing upward, he could see a high ceiling and exposed 
girders. Hefting the grappling hook he swung it in a high arc. It
fell short of the lowest beams, clattering noisily to the floor.

The Sentinel froze in dismay. He'd hoped to keep his own 
position masked, but the banging of the grappler on the 
concrete was a sure giveaway. He didn't expect Dirkson to sit 
and wait for him to get to Blair. Jim knew that the temptation 
to “hunt” would be too much for Dirkson to pass up, and now 
he knew exactly where his prey could be found.

Moving quickly, Jim vaulted to one of the pieces of equipment, 
tossing the hook upward again. This time it held. There were 
two possible locations for the next stairwell, and he decided to 
try for the one that was to his right.

Jim tugged at the rope one more time and then began to climb. 
Reaching the girder he pulled himself onto it, disengaged the 
hook and tossed it forward again, hooking it to another metal 
strut 20 feet away. Gripping the rope tightly he let himself 
swing down, his momentum carrying him past the girder,
where he reached out and grabbed another. Stabilizing his 
position, he tugged the grappler free, gathered it in and tossed 
it to another strut. He swung down, heard the sharp retort of a 
gunshot and felt the rope give way. He dropped like a rock 
toward the floor below.

Instinct and training kicked in. He bent his knees, absorbing 
part of the shock of landing by bouncing feet first into a piece 
of equipment and then quickly pulling his legs in so that he'd 
hit the floor rolling. 

The force of the landing was still enough to leave him dazed as 
he crawled to a more sheltered position, collecting himself as 
he leaned against a stack of wooden crates.

"That's breaking the rules," he heard Dirkson snarl in the 
headset. "Stay in the maze, Jim-bo, or the forfeit goes into 
effect."

The Sentinel shook off the worst of his dizziness, berating 
himself for underestimating his adversary. Going across the top 
had been too easy, and he should have expected Dirkson to try 
to stop him. Massaging his left shoulder, he gazed into the 
cluttered darkness, straining to get his bearings.

"You know, I'm almost impressed, Jim-bo," came Dirkson's 
sneering voice. "Guess you haven't forgotten everything from 
the old days. I was beginning to wonder...I mean it was pretty 
funny watching you fumble around for the last few days, with 
no hint as to what was going on. I think you'd still be in the
dark if I hadn't decided to restructure the game. And I left you 
such great clues. All you had to do was put them together to 
figure out who was behind it."

"I wasn't looking for a dead man." 

Jim rose to his feet and dodged to shelter behind another stack 
of crates.

"You see, that's what I mean," Dirkson rambled on. "You 
forgot the first rule--never assume an enemy's dead until you 
check the body."

"You weren't an enemy until now," Jim answered softly.

"That's where you're wrong, Jim-bo," Dirkson growled. "I've 
always been your enemy. You were just too full of yourself to 
see it."

There was an almost inaudible click in the headset as Dirkson 
pulled out of the link and Jim heard Blair's voice calling to him 
desperately.

"Jim...Jim...!"

"I'm here, Chief." Jim moved to where he could see a set of 
doors which he hoped would lead out into another stairwell.

"Good...to hear...your voice..." Blair whispered. "I...was 
getting... worried..."

"Nothing to worry about," Jim answered, his attention on what 
he thought was a flicker of movement in the window of the 
doorway. Was Dirkson waiting there? "Just had a little chat 
session with our host."

"Go after...him..." Blair choked out.

"I will, after you're out of here."

"Forget...that..." Blair argued. "Just get...this guy...before...he 
gets you..."

As if Blair's words had been a signal, the door that he'd been 
watching suddenly swung inward. Jim dove to his left, 
continuing to roll further in that direction as a burst from a 
flame-thrower seared through the crates where he'd been 
crouched.

Maniacal laughter roared through the headset, but Jim ignored 
it and lurched to his feet.

The Sentinel scrambled toward the second location that he'd 
targeted, dodging around pieces of equipment. A warning 
tingle raced up his spine and he slid to a stop, just in time to 
avoid a trip wire. He took a quick look and found three more 
triggers --it was pure blind luck that he’d managed to avoid 
them.

Stepping carefully around the wires, he listened intently for 
signs of pursuit. Dirkson's voice echoed in the headset.

"Nice move, Jim-bo. You're really making a game of this, 
although I admit I'm a little disappointed that you've managed 
to avoid a few of my more interesting surprises.”

Ignoring the jibes, Jim kept moving. Picking his way around 
smaller piles of skidded crates he was rewarded with the sight 
of another flight of stairs.

"I am a little concerned about your partner though. I'm not sure 
he's going to make it through to the deadline. He doesn't look 
very good." 

Jim gritted his teeth and eyed the steps carefully, looking for 
the same kind of booby traps he'd seen on the first stairwell.

"I tell you what Jim-bo, since you're making such good 
progress and in the interest of fairness, I believe I'll move the 
deadline up--to midnight."

Jim glanced down at his watch--that gave him just under 90 
minutes. 

"Maybe I'll just go check on how he's doing..." he heard 
Dirkson murmur.

"Guess that means I'm too much of an opponent," Jim sneered. 

"I can take you out any time I want!"

"Then prove it," Jim challenged, trying to keep Dirkson's 
attention focused away from Blair.

"No...I believe I'll let you sweat a little longer. I want you 
wondering where I am...what I'm doing...who I'm with..." there 
was a pause and then Dirkson's voice came on again. "Watch 
your six, Jim-bo."

Automatically, Jim turned to look behind him, his gun coming 
out of it's holster. He heard the ring of Dirkson's laughter in 
the headset, then the click that meant he'd signed off.

And heard his Guide’s tortured breathing. He considered 
warning Blair that Dirkson might be on his way, but decided 
against it.

"You holding up okay, Chief?"

"...yeah..." Blair's answer was accompanied by another round 
of coughing. 

The Sentinel forced himself to maintain control. Dirkson was 
trying to goad him into moving faster, into making a mistake. 
And that was what would get both he and his Guide killed. 
Was Dirkson actually going to where he was keeping Blair or 
was it a trick to lull Jim into lowering his guard? There was
no way of telling. 

With his senses extended to maximum, Jim scanned the stairs 
again, but found no evidence of traps. He was about to put his 
hand on the railing when he paused and examined it closely. 
There was a trace of a familiar chemical odor and he nodded, 
his face tight and grim. He took the steps, cautiously, careful
to stay clear of the handrail. 

Again it was a single flight of stairs, but this time there were 
three doors at the top. He spent a few moments examining 
each, finding two of them wired. He eyed the third 
suspiciously. This was the door Dirkson wanted him to use. 

'Time to take control of the game,' Jim decided, turning to one 
of the other doors.

He worked carefully, ignoring the screaming clock in his head 
that ticked away the minutes that Blair had left. Snapping the 
last clip in place to reroute the charge, he gave the door a 
gentle push and it swung inward. Jim rose to his feet and 
quickly moved into another corridor. 

'This floor must have been office support,' Jim realized, angling 
in the direction that he thought would lead him closer to 
Blair's location. He pulled a handful of small pebbles out of 
his pocket and threw them ahead of him on the floor. His small 
detectors sprang no traps and he moved forward again.

He'd covered the length of the corridor when a burst of 
coughing and an agonized groan echoed through the headset.

"Sandburg...Blair, can you hear me?" he asked urgently. "Just 
take it easy..."

********************************

Alone in the darkness, the younger man was in no shape to 
listen. Another coughing fit hit him and Blair struggled against 
it, gasping for air, panic setting in. 

********************************

Jim heard the desperate sounds in his headset and increased 
his pace, talking softly and encouragingly at the same time.

"Hold on Chief...do you hear me? Focus on something...you've 
got to concentrate..."

********************************

But Blair was gripped by a panic fueled by fear for his 
Sentinel, by the blows he'd taken to the head, by the sense of 
numbness creeping through him. He pulled desperately at the 
rope, throwing his weight against it.

********************************

"Chief, take it easy!" Jim ordered, moving faster now, urged on 
by His Guide’s sobs of frustration and pain.

There was a sudden click and Dirkson's voice broke in.

"Your partner's losing it," Dirkson warned, an excited edge to 
his voice. "You better find some way to settle him down or his 
actions are going to evoke some very loud consequences."

As Dirkson clicked off again, Jim jerked to a stop, the meaning 
of the threat suddenly clear.

"Blair!" he almost shouted into the com link. "Blair listen to 
me! Don't move. Do you hear me? He's got explosives rigged to 
you somehow. If you move you're going to set them off! Don't 
do anything but breathe, do you understand me?"

There was a long moment of silence filled only with his 
Guide's uneven breathing. Finally the Sentinel heard a 
whispered, "Yes". It was a mix of pain, panic and despair, but 
the sounds of movement were gone.

"Okay, that's good, Chief," Jim murmured as encouragingly as 
he could. "Just stay as still as you can. Try to focus on 
something...something you can see."

"...no light..." Blair whispered back, his voice more strained 
than ever.

Jim cursed Dirkson silently, the thirst for vengeance growing 
stronger. He forced himself to push the desire aside--his Guide 
needed him to be in control now, more than ever.

"All right...take it easy...we'll just try something else..." he 
temporized, his mind working rapidly to find another solution.

"You're sure...about...the explosives?" 

"Dirkson mentioned a that there would be a small surprise 
waiting when I got to you," Jim answered evenly. "I'd guess 
that's what he meant."

"Talk about...overkill...Guess... that's it then...no point...in your
getting...any closer..."

"Don't you give up on me!"

"Who knows... maybe I'll get lucky...if he comes back...maybe I 
can...take him out...with me..." the younger man responded, his 
voice deadly calm.

"Blair, listen to me, damn it!" Jim barked into the headset, 
moving forward, his eyes scanning the corridor for the next 
doorway. "You're the Observer, remember? You're supposed to 
follow my orders. Now listen to my voice. Close your eyes and 
just listen..."

Jim shifted his voice into an even, almost sing-song tone.

"You remember that meditation trick you tried to teach me? 
The one where you imagine a peaceful place? I'm going to walk 
you through it.”

"Jim...I..." 

"Just listen...build the picture in your mind...there's a red 
sun..."

***************

Jim pitched his voice lower as he sought to lead his Guide into 
the trance- like state, hoping to keep him calm. He kept talking 
as he moved, avoiding one booby trap and then another. He 
kept at it for a full ten minutes and slowly he heard the sound 
of Blair's breathing start to ease. He swallowed against the 
dryness in his own throat and continued to speak quietly, his 
voice an invisible lifeline that the younger man clung to  
desperately.

Just as he began to allow himself to hope that it might be 
working, he heard a click and immediately lost the sound of 
Blair's breathing.

"Never thought I'd hear that mystical mumbo-jumbo from you, 
Ellison."

"You always had a closed mind, Dirkson, that was your 
problem from the start."

"Wrong Jim-bo. You were my problem. You were the one who 
cost me nine years of my life."

"I wasn't the one who took five men to their deaths."

"And I listened to them die...one by one..." Dirkson whispered 
savagely. "And with every one, I swore I'd get even with you."

Several unconnected thoughts suddenly clicked together in 
Jim's mind. "The Hibani..." 

"That's right," Dirkson spat back. "The Hibani. Your partner 
studied them, but he's lucky...he's never met them...they don't 
let outsiders leave their territory."

"But you did," Jim said softly, his mind turning over what he 
knew of the warrior caste society.

"If you manage to survive their torture you're no longer an 
outsider, Jim-bo. You become one of the tribe."

"To do that you'd have to kill one of your own people," Jim 
said softly, remembering what Blair had deciphered out of the 
odd script. "Is that what happened? Did you kill your men so 
that you could survive?"

"I did what I had to do...The Hibani have an incredible number 
of ways to kill, did you know that, Jim-bo? They're adept at 
creating pain...they know all the points of the body to 
affect...and fire is one of their favorite stimulants..."

His ramblings convinced Jim as nothing else had that Dirkson 
was insane. He started moving faster, making his way through 
the corridors filled with vacant offices, searching intently for a 
way to the next level. He'd switched into the high gear mode 
he'd experienced earlier, praying that Blair could hold onto the 
tenuous balance of the trance on his own. On one level he was 
almost painfully aware of the dangers around him through his 
hyperextended senses. On another, he could feel the drain in 
his own energies, but he ignored it, driven by the need to finish 
the game before Dirkson turned his attention back to Blair.

He edged around another corner and caught sight of a staircase 
at the far end. He glanced back over his shoulder, then scanned 
the hallway again. There seemed to be irregularities in the 
flooring tiles and he tossed his final handful of pebbles across 
them. Some of them skittered oddly as if they'd hit something 
and Jim stared down at the tiles grimly. 

'Pressure mines,' he realized. 

The whole corridor was scattered with them, but now that he 
knew they were there, he also knew how to pick his way 
through. Leapfrogging from one safe spot to another, he 
crossed to the base of the stairwell. Checking it out 
thoroughly, he felt a surge of despair. Both the steps and the 
railings were booby trapped and he didn't have the time or 
means to disarm them. 

He realized that Dirkson was still rambling, but that he'd 
switched to reminiscing about one of their old missions. 

"'Course we had to blow them away, didn't we? To keep up 
from seeing what we were really after...you remember what 
Colonel Haraway said when we got back from that mission...." 

Dirkson rattled on, switching to another story, but his words 
had given Jim an idea. Looking up at the drop ceiling, he saw 
that some of the tiles had fallen in, revealing a system of large, 
metal air ducts. He searched further, hunting for the opening to 
the ventilation system, and finally located the grilled vent 
entrance..

He repeated his leapfrog pattern, crossing back to the end of 
the corridor until he was clear of the traps. Deciding that the 
vent and ductwork was big enough to hold him, he dodged 
back into one of the offices, grabbed a stool and a small box of 
discarded metal parts. He set the stool down under the opening 
and climbed up, releasing the catch on the vent door. Pulling 
himself into the ductwork, he strained to look down the dark 
length of the metal shaft. He allowed himself a grim, satisfied 
smile when he saw grilled openings at both the top and “floor” 
of the metal tube. He now had another way to the fourth floor--
all he had to do was crawl through and find an upward exit .
Preferably one close to where Blair was being kept.

Now he needed a distraction. Balancing himself, he reached 
down and pulled the stool up into the duct. He studied the 
floor and the staircase for a moment, then threw the open box 
of machine parts toward the stairs. As soon as he'd thrown it, 
he lunged in the opposite direction down the shaft. 

The duct shuddered with a series of violent explosions. In his 
mind's eye, Jim "saw" the parts fall randomly onto the floor, 
setting off mines along corridor, the final explosion coming as 
the box itself fell on the staircase steps. He held his breath as 
Dirkson's voice suddenly fell silent. His plan hinged on 
Dirkson believing that he had made a desperate run for the 
stairs and gotten caught in the traps. If he did believe it, or 
even if he wasn't sure, he'd come to investigate, and that would 
pull him away from Blair, buying Jim the time he needed to 
free his partner. 

"Jim-bo? Jim-bo are you there? Sounds like you finally made a 
mistake, buddy..." Dirkson giggled madly.

There was a click in the headset--Dirkson bringing Blair into 
the loop.

"Hey, kid...did you hear that? Your partner blew it. Literally 
blew it!" 

Jim shut his eyes, cringing at Blair's horrified groan.

"Guess the game's just about over, Sandburg," Dirkson 
chuckled gleefully. "I'll go check out Ellison’s corpse and then 
you and I will finish off our business."

Dirkson's insane laughter rang through the headset and then it 
grew silent except for Blair's soft sobbing.

"Oh, man...Jim..."

Scrambling forward on his hands and knees, Jim searched for a 
way upward. He'd bought the precious minutes he'd wanted and 
no matter how much he ached to reassure his Guide, he 
couldn't respond over the com link and risk Dirkson realizing 
he'd been tricked.

Fortunately it seemed like his luck was holding. He found the 
opening he wanted within minutes and climbed out onto 
another concrete floor. The darkness was nearly complete, and 
even with his Sentinel vision, Jim could barely see more than a 
few feet in any direction.

A soft, rasping noise drew him to the right. The sound hadn't 
come from the headset, but he was sure it was Blair. He edged 
forward, skirting skids of crates as he crossed the floor. He 
ducked around another pile and froze when he caught sight of 
his Guide, hanging by the wrists from a rope that disappeared 
upward into the darkness. He watched closely, but saw no sign 
of movement in his friend and for a moment he feared he had 
come too late. 

With his own pulse pounding in his ears, it took him several 
long moments to focus on the younger man’s familiar 
heartbeat. It was slightly fast, but it was steady. Relieved that 
his Guide was still alive, Jim had to keep himself from 
bounding to his partner’s side. He forced himself to remain 
silent and approach carefully--the conversation he'd overheard 
could have been Dirkson's own trap to catch him off guard. 
The Sentinel stayed alert, searching for any sign of his 
opponent. 

When he was only a dozen feet behind his Guide, he saw the 
explosives--a small innocuous looking package rested on the 
floor where the rope that held Blair was tied off. Jim did one 
more quick scan around and then moved quickly to his 
partner’s side.

Pulling off his headset, he reached out and removed Blair's as 
well. Startled, the younger man automatically shifted away as 
if he were trying to avoid a blow.

"Easy...it's me," Jim whispered, placing his hand gently at the 
back of his Guide's head.

The whispered response was filled with surprise and doubt. 
"...Jim...?"

"Easy..." Realizing that Blair couldn’t see him in the darkness, 
Jim reached out to steady the grad student's swinging body, 
giving him a gentle squeeze in reassurance. 

"I...I thought...he said..." Blair stammered in confusion. He 
leaned his head into the support of Jim's hand, groaning as a 
coughing fit jarred his body.

"I managed a little diversion of my own. Now just hold on and 
try to breathe...slowly..."

 A shudder rippled through the younger man. He drew a deeper 
breath and another coughing fit hit him. 

"Slowly..." Jim cautioned, holding him until the worst of the 
spasms had passed. 

"Okay...let's get you down from there.” Jim eased to a crouch 
next to the explosives. He did a quick check for Dirkson, then 
pulled out a small penlight. "Looks like a pressure package," 
he explained, studying both the explosives and the rope 
attached to them.

"Can you...disarm it?" Blair shifted slightly so that he could 
look back at Jim.

"It’s just a matter of figuring out what triggers the explosives. 
Don't move," Jim ordered and Blair froze. "Dirkson used to be 
pretty fond of these when I knew him...in Covert Ops..." The 
Sentinel's eyes traveled the length of the rope to where it rested 
on a pulley and then down to where it was tied to the restraints 
around his Guide's wrists.

"Great...," Blair groaned. "Covert Ops...and I thought...he was
just...crazy..."

"You got that part right," Jim agreed, rising to his feet. He took 
a quick look around and saw what he was looking for. He 
dragged a crate over to Blair's side and then pulled a length of 
nylon rope from around his waist.

Blair coughed again, closing his eyes and resting his head on 
his arms as he struggled for breath. "...this...is crazy, man... 
don't try it...just...get out of here..."

"For an Observer, you don't listen very well," Jim muttered, 
climbing on top of the crate and gingerly looping the nylon 
rope around the other rope just above Blair's wrists. "We're 
getting out of here together. Now just hold still."

Satisfied that the rope was secure, he jumped down and pulled 
it taut, securing it around the crate. Then he climbed back up 
next to Blair, pulling out a hunting knife and putting his hand 
on the back of Blair's neck again for a brief moment to get his 
attention.

"Now listen...the second rope should counter the balance. 
When I cut you free, you're going to drop down. All you need 
to do is stay on your feet for a few seconds."

"Jim...I’m not sure..." 

"You have to," the older man ordered firmly. "I need both 
hands to steady the rope while I cut it. If you shift forward too 
suddenly it could upset the balance and set off the exposive."

"Jim..."

"Here we go," Jim interrupted him again, sawing at the rope. 

********************************

Blair felt himself falling as the strands parted and he tried 
desperately to make numb muscles respond. He gasped, pain 
shooting through him when his feet hit the floor. He fought to 
keep himself upright, but the injured knee buckled and he felt 
himself pitching forward.

Fearing he'd killed them both, he had a moment of absolute 
panic and then suddenly Jim's arms were locked around him, 
halting his plunge. 

"Got you," he heard Jim murmur in his ear as the older man 
grabbed him under the arms, dragging him away from the 
explosives.

Blair's arms and body were like lead. His head was spinning 
and when Jim stumbled, a shaft of pain burned through him 
from his left side, forcing a stifled scream from his lips.

Jim immediately lowered him to the floor, but the weight of his 
ribs on his collapsed lung  made it impossible to breathe. Jim 
saw his distress and eased him from his back onto his right 
side, where he lay gasping, his face contorted with pain.

"Stay with me, Chief," Jim murmured, crouched at his side. 

Enveloped in pain and unable to fill his lungs, Blair tried 
desperately to concentrate on the Sentinel's voice, fighting to 
stay out of the blackness that threatened to fill his mind.

Jim placed his hand under Blair's right cheek, cushioning the 
younger man's head as he raised it slightly, hoping to ease his 
friend's breathing. After a few ragged breaths Blair opened his 
eyes once more.

"You know, for somebody who looks so awful, it's sure good 
to see you," Jim said encouragingly, hoping that his voice and 
face reflected none of the horror he felt looking at the affects 
of the beating that his partner had taken. Blair's left eye was 
nearly swollen shut, his face was covered in bruises, and Jim 
could see an open gash over his left temple. He flashed the 
penlight into Blair's eyes and noted the differences in the 
pupils--a sure  sign of a concussion or an even more serious 
head injury. 

Blair coughed again. his body curling into itself as he fought 
against the pain and the breath it stole from his lungs. 

"Hang in there," Jim urged.

"...trying.." Blair gasped, spitting out a mouthful of blood.

"I know..." Jim eased Blair's head down to the floor and gently 
ran his hands over his Guide's arms and legs to assess what 
else might be broken. As he touched Blair's left knee he felt 
the younger man shudder in pain and he  turned his attention 
to the restraints locked around the slim wrists.

"These are going to have to wait until we're out of here," he 
said, easing Blair's arms down to rest on the floor and taking 
the bruised face in his hands once more.

"I take it...you've got...a plan..." Blair whispered.

"Don't I always?" Jim answered, thinking fast. 

Blair was in no shape to make it back through the maze below 
them--moving him ten feet had nearly blacked him out. Jim 
looked down at his friend and realized that they only had one 
choice.

"We're going to get you stashed away, and then I'm going after 
Dirkson," he said softly. "We're got backup and medical crews 
standing by on the outside. Once I take Dirkson out, we'll call 
them in. Maybe even get you a ride on one of those med-flight 
choppers."

"Remember...I don't...like...heights..."

"Yeah....I remember. Time to get moving."

Jim pulled Blair to his feet, supporting the wavering body. He 
took a step forward. Blair tried to move with him, but his left 
knee buckled again.

"My knee..." he whispered, his voice full of the pain he tried to 
overcome.

"Lean against me," Jim directed. "We won't go far."

"You're right about that, Jim-bo" echoed a voice from 
somewhere beyond them. "You left the maze...game's 
over...you forfeit."

With only that warning, Jim heard a faint electronic click. 
Wheeling, he practically threw Blair backward, covering his 
friend's body with his own as an explosion lifted him off his 
feet and thrust him into blackness.

************

Jim awoke to a shooting pain in his side and a loud buzzing in 
his ears. Another sharp nudge pushed him fully awake and his 
eyes flickered open. For a moment he stared up into blackness, 
feeling oddly disoriented.

"Wake up time, Jim-bo." 

Memory returned in a rush and the Sentinel forced himself to 
roll to his s ide,his instincts urgently telling him to find his 
Guide. A flare of light made him blink rapidly, his eyes 
adjusting to the change. He glanced toward the light and saw 
Dirkson setting a small lantern on the floor. But Jim wasted no 
time on watching Dirkson, because between them, crumpled 
motionless on the floor, lay Blair.

Jim started to rise, intending to move to his partner's side, but 
Dirkson waved him off, pointing a gun toward the younger 
man's head.

"Uh, uh, uh..." Dirkson warned.

Jim turned his attention back to Blair. The buzzing in his own 
ears kept him from finding the heartbeat that he so urgently 
needed to hear, so he turned to his other senses for 
reassurance. He could see only the side of Blair's face as he lay 
sprawled partly on his back, and the Sentinel watched him 
closely, searching desperately for any sign of life. Focusing on 
his friend's face he finally saw what he was looking for--a 
brief, regular flaring of the nostrils.

Dirkson noted his distraction and moved to stand between 
them, the gun now pointing at Jim.

"He's still alive," Dirkson announced, eyeing Blair as he spoke. 
"But unfortunately  he's too far gone to have much use 
anymore."

Callously, Dirkson put the toe of his right boot under Blair's 
left shoulder and jerked upward, rolling Blair off his back and 
onto his side, facing him away from Jim.

"Of course I'll still kill him, but it won't have quite the same 
effect, now will it?" he sneered. "It's too bad you were so clever 
with the pressure pack. It would have been so fitting for him to 
have died at your hands."

"Like you killed your men," Jim murmured softly, his mind 
searching for something that would distract Dirkson and give 
him a final chance to overcome him. "You're not a soldier, 
anymore Dirkson. And you're not even a warrior. There's no 
honor in what you've done. You're nothing but a coward and a
murderer."

"And you're what?" Dirkson sneered back. "You're the same as 
me. You would have made the same choices I did."

"No," Jim answered softly. "Not now, and not even then. You 
never could appreciate the value of human life. You never 
understood the truth."

"Truth!" Dirkson screamed, waving the weapon dangerously 
between Blair's still form and Jim. "The truth is you abandoned 
us. You made the mission plans, you sent us into that area..."

 "You may have convinced yourself of that over the years. But 
you're the one that made the decision to go there. Against 
orders."

"Your orders!" Dirkson screamed again, his body shaking with 
anger. "Well, I'm tired of your orders. And I'm tired of you!"

Jim saw him raise the gun, saw the insanity in his eyes and 
realized that there was no place to go--that he was looking at 
death. He tensed, shifting into motion anyway, determined to 
buy Blair a chance.

And suddenly the room was thrust into blackness. Angling his 
lunge fractionally, Jim rolled to the right, scrambled to his feet 
and then threw his weight sideways to the left,  crashing into 
Dirkson. Together they fell to the floor, locked in a deadly 
struggle. 

*******************

Locked in his own battle just to stay conscious, Blair barely 
heard them. He'd fought through the blackness and woken just 
as Dirkson had rolled him to his side. He'd stayed motionless, 
partly out of fear and pain and partly out of hope--hope that 
maybe he could supply Jim with a distraction. 

"But what kind of a distraction," he had wondered, his body 
weak, his mind still dazed. 

His eyes had flickered open and caught sight of the lantern 
only a foot away from his bound hands. With agonizingly slow 
movements, he had forced himself to reach out toward it, 
gritting his teeth against the pain, pushing numb and aching 
muscles desperately as he listened to Dirkson rage at Jim. 
Blair's fingers were only inches away from the lamp when 
Dirkson had screamed in anger. Blair had caught the change of 
tone--as if a decision had been made--and forced himself into 
one final lurch. He'd gasped out loud as pain exploded through 
him, just as his fingers hit the lamp and sent it rolling to the 
side, extinguishing the light.

********************

Blair winced as the chatter of gunfire erupted around him.

The explosive rounds of the firing gun echoed in the chamber 
and Jim fought desperately for control of the weapon, fearing 
that Blair would be caught by a stray shot.

Dirkson fought like a madman, and for a moment, the Sentinel 
faltered as doubt filled him. Dirkson took advantage of what he 
felt was a loosening of Jim's hold and delivered a staggering 
blow. Pain roared through Jim's mind, immediately followed 
by anger. 

Anger that built into a rage that this time, Jim didn't try to 
control. Instead he fed images into it that increased it's 
ferocity--the burns on Simon's hands, the look of fear on 
Cassie's face, the reek of fire and destruction in Jorgenson's 
apartment, the smell of Hansen's death, the look of pain on 
Blair's face when he'd been struck by the car.

And finally he fed into it all the emotion he'd held back since 
first realizing that Blair had been taken. As flashes of his 
Guide's bruised face and his agonized gasps for breath 
reverberated in the Sentinel's mind, he found himself turning 
on Dirkson with an incredible desire for vengeance of his own.

Blair heard Jim scream out something in the darkness and that 
cry made him shiver. Convinced that something was terribly 
wrong, Blair scrambled to right the lamp, his numb fingers 
fumbling with the switch to turn it on. Finally he managed it, 
wincing away as the light flared in his eyes. 

He heard an agonized gasping sound and he turned his head, 
fearing to find Dirkson looming over Jim. But what he saw was 
the opposite--Jim's hands were locked around Dirkson's neck. 
The man flailed weakly at the hold, but it was obvious that he 
was rapidly loosing ground. Jim was winning, he noted with 
relief, but Blair continued to stare at them, certain that 
something was wrong. 

Then he saw it--the insane expression that contorted Jim's face 
was too much like the one that had filled Dirkson's earlier. 
Dirkson had pushed him and now the Sentinel's rage was out 
of control, seeking its own retribution. 

"Jim!" Blair gasped out, seeking to divert his friend. "Jim! 
Stop!"

A fit of coughing shook him, but Blair refused to give in to it. 
Spitting out a mouthful of blood he called out again, hoping to 
break through to Jim and stop him before he did something 
that would haunt him forever.

"Jim! Stop It! You're killing him!"

But Jim either didn't hear him or didn't choose to listen to the 
words as the pressure around Dirkson's neck became a 
deathgrip.

"Jim...stop!....please..." Blair gasped, ignoring the pain and 
spitting out more blood as he pushed himself to move, 
crawling toward the two men. 

Whether he'd finally gotten through, or whether it was his 
lurching movement toward them, Blair would never know. Jim 
suddenly raised his head and looked in his direction. As their 
gazes locked a strange look rippled across Jim's face and he 
glanced down, staring in confusion at the man in his grip.

"...Jim...please...don't ...he's not worth it..." Blair cried out 
weakly. He lay stretched forward, his weight resting on his 
bound arms, straining for just one more breath, his head and 
body pounding in agony, his gaze locked on his Sentinel.

With a lurch, Jim straightened, releasing his hold on Dirkson 
and moving a staggering step away from where he sprawled 
motionless on the ground. Jim stared down at him for a 
moment, then his gaze sought his Guide's again. Blair thought 
he caught a glimmer of recognition and sanity in his friend's 
eyes before the roaring wave of blackness that he'd been 
holding off finally started to overwhelm him.

"He's...not...worth it..." Blair repeated as he collapsed forward 
onto the floor.

Jim shuddered as if he'd been drenched in ice water and shook 
himself, feeling like he was emerging from a nightmare. He 
staggered to Blair's side and knelt heavily beside him, easing 
the younger man over to his right side and fumbling to find the 
slowing pulse. 

"Chief..." he whispered, staring down into Blair's bruised face. 

Blair's eyes flickered open, but his gaze was dull and filled 
with pain. He tried to draw in a breath, and Jim heard the 
gasping rattle clearly. He slipped out of his jacket and slid it 
under Blair's head, hoping the support would ease the labored 
breathing.

"Just hold on," he murmured urgently. "I'm going to call in the 
cavalry and get us out of here."

Jim lurched over to Dirkson, patting him down and stripping 
him of anything that might be a potential weapon. He nodded 
in relief as he discovered a cell phone in one of Dirkson's 
jacket pockets. He also found a small device that he guessed 
was the remote unit for triggering some of the traps in the 
building and pocketed that as well. Jim took a quick look 
around and tugged the body over to a metal pylon. With a set 
of restraints that he pulled from Dirkson's own pockets Jim 
secured him to the pole, then crossed back to kneel at Blair's
side. With one hand resting on his Guide's arm in reassurance, 
he punched in the number to reach the swat team outside.

"Simon...it's Jim..."

"Jim what the hell is going on in there? Are you all right?"

"Dirkson's contained," Jim answered, rising to his feet and 
moving a few feet away from Blair. "Sandburg's still alive, but 
we've got to get him out of here fast if we're going to keep it 
that way. I'm going to need some help."

"I'll send a team in right away."

"Don't try it," Jim warned. "The floors below us are still rigged 
with active traps. Any chance you can put one of those birds 
on the roof?"

"Negative. We already checked that out. The roof won't 
support the chopper's weight. We can put team up there though 
and lower down a lifeboat."

"All right," Jim answered, thinking fast. "If there's a way out 
from this level, Dirkson's probably got it rigged. Maybe there's 
a way we can take advantage of that."

"How?"

"By punching a hole in the roof. I'll try to find the location. 
You get a fix on this cell coordinate when I give you the 
word."

Jim moved quickly back to Blair's side.

"Hang on buddy, I'll be right back," he murmured softly.

Blair's only response was a wheezing rattle as he struggled for 
breath, no longer even truly conscious.

Jim started scouting, eyeing the ceiling for the exit that he 
wanted. 

Simon's call interrupted the search a few minutes later. "Jim, 
you find anything yet?"

"No," Jim responded, even his enhanced senses at a loss in the 
almost total
darkness.

"Turn to your right and go about thirty feet," Simon suggested. 
"I've got a spotter on the building next door. He says there's a 
rooftop access there--might be our way in."    

Jim moved quickly, following Simon's directions and in 
seconds was standing under the exit he'd been looking for.

"I see it," Jim reported. "It is rigged, but I can't see the charge. 
It must be on the outside. Can your man hit it?" Jim asked 
hopefully.

"He says he can," Simon answered grimly. "But you'd better 
take cover. We could just as easily bring this whole place 
down as punch a hole in it."

"Give me two minutes." Jim sprinted back to Blair's side. He 
looked around for something to shield them with and saw the 
outline of a piece of heavy equipment like he'd seen on one of 
the lower floors. Cradling his young partner in his arms, he 
carried Blair to the far side of the machine and lowered him 
gently to the floor.

Seconds later the whole place shook as the bomb was 
triggered. Jim leaned across Blair, sheltering him with his own 
body while parts of the ceiling fell around them. Finally the 
shaking stopped and Jim coughed, dust filtering into his lungs. 
He looked down at his Guide and realized that the gasping 
rattle that he'd been monitoring was gone--Blair was 
unconscious and no longer breathing.

"Don't quit on me, Chief," Jim ordered, shifting positions and 
placing his own mouth on Blair's, blowing air into his lungs, 
trying to help him breathe.

"Jim!" Simon's anxious cry echoed in the darkness.

"Over here...hurry..." he yelled back and then breathed into 
Blair's lungs again.

************

Again and again he forced breath into Blair's lungs until his 
own head swam with dizziness. He was so focused that he 
wasn't even aware of the pounding of approaching footsteps 
and the brightening of the room. It wasn't until Simon grabbed 
his arms and pulled him backward that he realized that help 
had indeed arrived.

"Jim...Jim...back off...let them work..." Simon ordered.

As his eyes registered on the EMTs surrounding Blair, Jim 
stopped resisting Simon's hold and let him pull him back to 
rest against the machine. A shudder rippled through his body 
and he found Simon thrusting an oxygen mask in his own face 
and urging him to use it.

"He's not breathing!" Jim objected, pushing away the offered 
assistance.

"He is now," commented one of the medics who was kneeling 
near Blair's head. "Pulse is thready...pressure's low. He's losing 
blood somewhere..." He ripped open Blair's shirt and very 
gently examined the younger man's injured left side, then 
leaned forward and listened for a few moments to the rasping 
breathing.

"Punctured lung," he murmured, nodding. "Has he been 
conscious at all?" he asked, glancing up at Jim.

"On and off," Jim answered, his eyes never leaving his young 
partner's pale face.

"Get him on oxygen and a start a unit of O negative blood..." 
the man ordered one of the other techs. Jim started to lose 
track of what was happening, the medic's terse commands 
ringing like screams in the stillness.

"Starting IV, lactated ringers..."

"Left pupil's partly fixed...10 percent dilation right eye..."

"Immobilize level one..."

"Pressure's dropping..."

"Hold onto him....we'll adjust treatment as necessary after we 
get him upstairs. Captain, I need these restraints off," the EMT 
called out to Simon.

"Taggert!" 

"Right here, Simon," Joel appeared almost magically in front of 
them, handing the keys to one of the techs.

"Dirkson?" Jim asked quietly, not taking his eyes off Blair.

"They're taking him up now," Taggert answered grimly, his 
gaze also fixed on the younger man.

Jim nodded and finally took a deep breath from the oxygen 
mask. The medics were fast, he realized thankfully. Simon had 
recruited the best.

"Let's get him on the LB, people," he head tech ordered. "He's 
not going to get any better down here."

"Watch his left leg," Jim interjected, taking Simon's hand and 
pulling himself to his feet.

"We've got it," assured one of the other EMTs, supporting 
Blair's injured knee gently as they shifted him.

"Go," ordered the head medic, taking one end of the stretcher 
basket himself.

They hurried off with Jim and Simon only a few steps behind. 
Jim eyed the hole in the ceiling warily, realizing that Simon 
had been right--they'd been fortunate that the whole ceiling 
hadn't come down when they set off the charge. But luck had 
been with them, and Jim grimly hoped it stayed that way--Blair 
wasn't out of danger yet. The med team quickly attached four 
ropes to the basket and it was hauled up to the roof by 
members of the swat team stationed above. The rest of them 
made a longer time of it, clambering up two rope ladders into 
the dark starry night.

Once on the roof, Jim located Blair who was still surrounded 
by the medics. He heard the thump of rotor blades and glanced 
upward to see the bright lights of a helicopter dropping down 
toward them. Once the chopper was in position, a bundle was 
tossed down and three of the swat team members scrambled to
retrieve it, helping the EMTs to attach new cables to the 
basket. 

Jim moved toward them just as the head medic rose to his feet 
and gave a thumbs up signal to the chopper pilot. The cables 
began to retract and several men stood by to ease the LB 
upward. Jim watched anxiously as the stretcher basket left 
their hands and began to move upward toward the waiting 
craft.

"We're going to medflight him straight in," the medic called 
out, shouting to be heard over the noise of the chopper. He 
came to stand next to Jim and eyed him carefully. In the bright 
lights of the rescue team he could see Jim's blackened face and 
several cuts oozing blood. "We can load you up as well
sir," he said evenly.

Jim didn't hear him, his attention centered overhead as he saw 
the onboard crew catch the basket and haul it aboard.

"Tell them to go ahead," Simon answered. "I'll bring him in 
myself."

The medic nodded and raised his fist in a whirling gesture. 
Immediately the chopper banked and sped off into the night.

Jim stood motionless, his senses focused on the helicopter 
until it was beyond even his range. He blinked finally, 
suddenly aware of how tired he was. It had been a long five 
days. It was hard to believe it was nearly over.

"He's a tough kid," Simon said softly, laying a hand on the 
detective's shoulder in quiet support. "He'll make it through 
this."

"I hope so," Jim murmured, turning and scanning the rooftop. 

His face grew grim as his gaze settled on Dirkson, standing a 
few feet away, bracketed on either side by members of the swat 
team.

"If he doesn't there will be at least seven murders to try him 
for."

"Seven?" Simon asked in confusion.

"He set the bomb that killed Hansen. And his team...he killed 
all of them so that he could survive..."

Jim's voice trailed off and his expression shifted to one of 
sorrow and confusion. He stared at Dirkson, not understanding 
how someone he'd once known so well could have become 
what he was.

As if sensing Jim's scrutiny, Dirkson suddenly raised his head. 
His eyes locked on the detective's and they glowed with an 
inner madness. His guards shifted him forward and he moved 
with them, never breaking his eye contact with Jim.

"There will be another day, Jim-bo," he called out. "I will have
retribution..."

Jim instinctively took a step forward, but Simon caught his 
arm. At the same time, Dirkson's guards pulled him to a stop, 
waiting for the men ahead of them to clear the ladder.

"Achi a zu matta," Dirkson called out, staring at the Sentinel. 
"It was promised."

Jim started, the words strangely familiar.

"Achi a zu matta!" Dirkson screamed. He broke free of his 
guards and launched himself toward the building edge.

Jim moved at the same time, but Dirkson charged across the 
distance with incredible speed.

"Achi a zu matta!" he screamed again, throwing himself over 
and out into nothingness.

Jim reached out to try to catch him, but he was too late. His 
own momentum
nearly carried him over as well, but Simon's firm grasp dragged 
him backward. Jim could only watch as Dirkson plummeted to 
the pavement below.

"What was it? What was he saying?"

"I don't know..." Jim murmured wearily.  Something... 
something about forever..."

"Forever's a long time in hell," Simon said grimly. "Come 
on...let's get you to the hospital. You're going to want to be 
there when Blair wakes up." 

Blearily Jim eyed Simon for a moment, then nodded his 
agreement.

***********
Epilogue


Staring out the window through the partially open blinds, Jim 
saw the first flickers of sunrise light the horizon. The long 
night was finally over. He glanced over at Blair's still form, and 
then looked away, still uncomfortable with seeing the 
aftereffects of the beating he'd taken. He looked into the 
sunrise again and then looked back at his Guide thoughtfully.

The younger man had already been in surgery by the time 
they'd arrived at the hospital. Simon had steered Jim into the 
emergency room and stayed with him to make sure that he had 
a thorough exam before letting him shift over to the surgical 
waiting area. Time had seemed to stretch out in almost  
unbearable slow motion as they waited for news.

When it had finally come, Jim allowed himself a sigh of relief. 
Blair would make it. Oh, it would take several weeks for his 
ribs to heal, but the puncture in the lung was repaired and 
would be of no danger by the time he was up and moving 
around. By then most of the bruises would be gone as well. His
knee, which Dirkson had dislocated would probably take the 
longest to heal, although the doctors assured them that he'd 
suffer no permanent loss of motion in it. 

And he was alive, Jim thought thankfully, something which 
even seven hours earlier was not something the Sentinel would 
have given odds on.

Now it was just a matter of waiting for him to wake up. Jim 
rubbed his own eyes wearily promising himself a full day of 
sleep once that happened. As he tried to relax, the phrase that 
Dirkson had screamed reverberated in his mind again. The 
words were familiar and he guessed that they were Hibani, 
although the Peruvian dialects that he knew all had some 
commonalities.

"Achi a zu matta..." he murmured softly, turning the phrase 
over in his mind. Something about forever...something 
menacing...

"That's...a...pleasant thought..." came a soft comment from the 
bed.

Jim turned and saw Blair's eyes slowly flicker open.

"What?" Jim pulled up a chair to settle at his partner's side.

"Don't get me...wrong..." Blair whispered, his eyes blinking 
slowly as he stared up at the ceiling. "It's good...to hear...your 
voice...but you could...come up with something... less... 
ominous..."

"It's good to hear your voice too. But I think I'm going to have 
them check your head again. You're not making any sense, 
Chief."

"Me?" Blair turned his head slightly to focus on Jim's face. "I'm 
not the one...muttering... in Hibani..."

Jim froze. He hadn't realized that he'd spoken the phrase out 
loud.

"You understand it?" he asked urgently. "You know what it 
means?"

"Yeah..." Blair responded, his own face clouding with 
confusion. "I understand it...but where'd...you hear it?"

Jim stared at him grimly, his face tight and his eyes filled with 
a mixture of pain, sorrow and anger.

"Dirkson?" Blair suddenly understood Jim's silence. A shudder 
of fear rippled through him and he reached out to grab Jim's 
arm. "Where is he? Did he get away?"

"No...No he didn't," Jim answered quietly, reaching out to put 
his other hand on Blair's trembling arm in reassurance. "He's 
dead."

A flicker of a doubt appeared in Blair's eyes and Jim 
immediately knew the cause.

"I didn't kill him," he said softly. "He killed himself. He threw 
himself off the roof of the warehouse. He screamed that at me 
before he did. Achi a zu matta..."

"I will haunt...my enemies...forever..." Blair whispered softly in
interpretation.

Jim blinked in shocked surprise, sensing that his Guide had 
gotten it right.

"It's one...of the few phrases...that's been  accurately... 
translated..." Blair murmured, his gaze locked with Jim's. 
"Part...of the Hibani...death song..."

Jim stared into the younger man's eyes for a long silent 
moment, then looked away, his mind turning over the truth of 
the phrase. He knew that what Dirkson had done would haunt 
him forever. As it would also haunt Blair.

"Hey...did I..." Blair's grip tightened on Jim's arm. "Did I... 
remember...to thank you?" 

The Sentinel looked down into his Guide's exhausted face and 
a small smile formed on his lips.

"Yeah...you did," he said softly.

Blair's eyes flickered shut again and Jim could see the tension 
start to drain from his face as he gave into his body's demand's 
for sleep.

"Good...wouldn't...want you...to think...I wasn't...grate..." The 
young man'svoice faded out as sleep claimed him. 

Jim eased his arm out from Blair's now relaxed grip. Rising to 
his feet the Sentinel settled the blankets around his Guide and 
then stretched out on the room's second bed. He closed his 
eyes and with a quick series of breaths cleared his head, 
pushing even Dirkson's dying curse out of his mind. His last
thought before he too slipped into sleep was one of pleasure as 
he listened to Blair's even, peaceful breathing.


The End

Author's final notes: I do not have a medical background, so 
my apologies for any incorrectness in procedures and dialog 
pertaining to that area. I also admit that I made up the Hibani 
and the language--for those of you who worry about that kind 
of thing, I offer my apologies. For those of you who enjoyed 
the story even with those admissions, I thank you. Feedback 
always welcome: kdkm@aol.com