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Disclaimer: See front page.
March 15, MondayBlair Sandburg, doctoral student in Anthropology, police observer, and Sentinel's Guide, unlocked and entered the loft. Juggling a grocery sack and a handful of mail, he tossed his keys in the basket, gently kicked the door shut and placed his burden on the counter. Quickly shrugging out of his jacket and hanging it on a hook by the door, he picked up the mail and carried it to the table. On top of the stack was an official looking letter from Rainier University, where he was a teaching fellow and student. Ripping open the envelope and pulling out the paper, he quickly scanned the words. Yes! He bounced on his toes as his face lit with a grin. One of his ever-important grants had been approved. Blair set the letter down and picked up the stack of mail again, beginning to sort it into two piles. Those addressed to his loftmate and partner, Jim Ellison, police detective and Sentinel of the Great City, he put in one pile, his went in the other. Bill. Bill. Bill. Dept. of Anthropology, Rainier. He stopped to open this one as well. Another grant approval. The grad student bounced once again.
He continued through the stack. Junk. Junk. Junk. Bill. Bank statement. Junk. Bill. Hello? What's this? Blair looked at the small, white disk mailer with curiosity. It was addressed to Jim. That was strange. Jim left most of the computer work to him. With a lingering glance at the cardboard mailer, Blair returned to the kitchen, put the groceries away and began to work on supper.
About an hour later Blair heard the key in the lock. He looked up as Jim came in. "Hey, Jim," he greeted as the other man tossed his keys in the basket.
"Hey, Chief," was the affable response. "Smells good. Is that salmon?"
"Uh-huh. It's a salmon puff."
"Is that healthy, Chief?"
Blair grinned. "It's certainly healthier than Mr. Tube Steak or Wonder Burger." Jim smiled as he hung up his jacket. "It should be ready in about ten minutes." Blair got a single nod in answer, as the larger man moved to the table.
"What's this?" Jim asked, holding up the disk mailer.
Blair shrugged. "I don't know. It came in the mail." Curious about the package himself, he left the kitchen and came to stand across from his partner. Jim glanced up at him. "You sense anything?"
The Sentinel shook his head. "Although, whatever's in here isn't a disk. It doesn't feel right."
Blair watched as Jim opened the package and dumped the contents into his palm. A large coin fell out. Puzzled, the anthropologist looked up from the coin to Jim, hoping for some enlightenment. He was surprised to see the color drain from his friend's face, and horror reflected in Jim's blue eyes. "Jim?"
His voice broke the mini-zone or whatever it was. Abruptly Ellison dropped the coin as if scalded and headed toward the stairs.
"Jim?" he called again in concern. The other man didn't answer, just continued up the stairs to his room. Blair watched his friend disappear. With one last worried glance up to the bedroom loft, he looked down at the cause of Jim's distress. After a moment, he slipped his glasses on and picked up the coin. On the front, at the top the words "7TH SPECIAL FORCES GROUP (AIRBORNE)" were inscribed. Just below them were the words "1ST SPECIAL FORCES". At the bottom, in a stylized ribbon were the words, "ANYTHING ANYTIME ANYWHERE". In the center a large numeral seven was superimposed over what looked like a global satellite image of Central and South America. Three arrows pointed down on the leg of the numeral. Blair turned the coin over. At the top of the back, in a ribbon, were the words "DE OPPRESSO LIBER." To free the oppressed his mind automatically translated. At the bottom, in another ribbon, were the words "WITH HONOR". In the center, a beret with flash rested atop an open scroll engraved with the name "C. Hickman, SFC." In tiny detail on the flash was a crest with two crossed arrows and a knife bisecting them.
Was it the name, or the coin itself that sent Jim running? Blair's eyes strayed back to the lower inscription. It sounded like a vow. A shiver coursed down his spine as the words etched themselves in his mind. There were probably no better words to describe how his friend conducted his life.
The oven timer dinged, startling him out of his thoughts. Casting another glance up at the bedroom loft, Blair went back to the kitchen. He turned the oven off and opened the oven door slightly so the meal would stay warm for a while. Quietly he finished up the dinner salads he'd been fixing when his partner came home, and set the table. When this activity failed to produce his partner, Blair sighed.
Gazing around the kitchen, he decided everything looked in order. The oven was off. The burners were off. Satisfied, Blair glanced up at the loft again. Pursing his lips as he considered his next move, he decided he'd left Jim alone long enough. He took a deep, calming breath, let it out slowly, and headed toward the stairs.
He ascended them quietly. When his head drew even with the railing, he looked for his partner. He spotted him sitting on the edge of his bed, forearms on knees, gazing intently at something he held in his hands. Blair let out the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding, and climbed up the last few steps. "Jim? You okay?" he murmured. He was relieved when he got a slight nod. The Sentinel hadn't zoned at least.
Still moving quietly, Blair crossed the intervening space to the bed, and cautiously sat down beside his friend. He looked at what Jim was holding, not surprised to see it was a coin. Tentatively, he held out his hand, mutely asking permission. After a moment, Jim sighed deeply, and placed the coin in his palm. Blair flashed him an encouraging smile, but the older man was now staring at the floor. He accepted that as he reached for the glasses in his pocket. Once he had them on, he studied the object in his hand. It seemed identical to the one still on their dining room table. He flipped it over. The name engraved on the scroll was "J. Ellison, CPT." He raised his head to look at Jim, and found the other man's focus back on the coin. Jim raised his eyes to meet Blair's. A small, wry smile greeted his questioning gaze.
"Practically every Special Forces unit has a group coin. It's looked at as a way to check and maintain Esprit de Corps. Every soldier carries his with him at all times." Jim chuckled in sad amusement. "If he's caught without it when a coin check is called, he gets to buy a round of drinks for everyone. That's the modern usage." He gently retrieved the coin from Blair's hands.
Blair watched for a moment while his partner fingered the coin, his thoughts obviously a long way away. He laid a hand on Jim's shoulder, squeezing gently. "This is bringing up some stuff, isn't it?" And the anniversary of the crash was yesterday. Coincidence? I don't think so.
Jim swallowed. "Yeah."
Softly. "Will you explain it to me?"
"Explain what?"
"The coin, man. Will you explain what's on it?"
Now Jim's lips twitched, and Blair smiled hopefully. Jim pointed to the inscription on the front. "This is the unit designation. The Seventh Special Forces Group handles missions to Central and South America. Mainly covert. Anti-terrorism, enemy interdiction, native forces training, aiding and protecting indigenous peoples."
"Like what you were doing with the Chopec?" Blair interrupted, amazed. This was the most information he'd ever gotten out of Jim regarding his Army career.
Jim's jaw clenched, and he feared his partner was going to clam up. To his relief, the jaw relaxed, and Jim nodded. "Yeah. We were sent in to protect the Chopec from enemy activities in the area."
Silence fell for a moment, then Jim seemed to shake himself and continued with the explanation. "The Seventh is part of the First Special Forces Division. The number seven over Central and South America symbolizes our sphere of operations and the importance the Seventh has down there. 'Anytime. Anything. Anywhere.' is our group motto. It simply means we're ready anytime to do anything and go anywhere."
"Pretty self-explanatory, huh?" Blair quipped.
Jim grunted in agreement, flipping the coin over. "'De Oppresso Liber'--To Free the Oppressed, is the motto of Special Forces. You can't tell it on the coin, but our beret flash is red with no embellishing. The crest on the flash is the crest of Special Forces. The crossed arrows symbolize the SF's role in unconventional warfare. The knife, used by the American Indian, symbolizes the qualities of an SF soldier--straight, true, silent, and deadly. There's a stylized ribbon that frames it, with the words 'De Oppresso Liber' at the bottom." Jim stopped, staring at the center of the coin. Just when Blair thought to press him, he continued, "The scroll is for the name or specialty of the individual who owns it. 'WITH HONOR' is kind of a personal motto. Kind of an individual reminder."
Blair chuckled softly.
Jim raised an eyebrow questioningly.
"I was thinking downstairs that there were probably no two words that better described how you conduct yourself."
Ellison stiffened for a moment, and Blair wondered what he'd said wrong. Finally, Jim shrugged, nodding acceptance. "There are some who might argue that with you, professor. But I try."
"You do a damn fine job of it, too," Blair said adamantly, determined to make his partner see his self-worth.
Jim's lips twitched, but he didn't quite smile.
"Who's C. Hickman?" When he saw the pain and guilt flash across Jim's face, Blair was sorry he'd asked. He was preparing to apologize, when his friend spoke again.
"Charlie Hickman, Sergeant First Class," came the whispered answer. "He was my communications officer."
Blair inhaled sharply, immediately picking up on what Jim hadn't said. "Peru?"
Jim nodded.
"Oh, man," Blair said contritely, squeezing Jim's shoulder a little tighter. I knew it couldn't be a coincidence.
There was silence for several heartbeats. Finally, Jim raised a hand to cup Blair's neck. "I'm hungry, Chief. Dinner ready?"
Blair grinned, appreciating his partner's effort. "Yeah, Jim. Dinner's ready. Let's eat."
Downstairs, the anthropologist set the food on the table while the detective got them each a beer. They sat down to eat. Blair watched in amusement as Jim gave the salmon the scent test, then cautiously took a bite. This was something his Sentinel always did when he introduced a new recipe. It had been a long time since he'd fixed anything the other man couldn't handle, but he always took the precaution nevertheless. Blair wasn't offended. With his friend's hyper-senses it was always better to be extra cautious with a new food than to regret it later.
"This is pretty good, Chief. Something new to add to the collection," Jim said with a genuine smile.
"Good. I'm glad you like it." Their conversation was light and sporadic, interspersed with companionable silences. At one point, Sandburg's curiosity won out and he asked, "So, how'd that end up here? Any idea?"
"No. The coins would have been placed with their personal effects once the bodies were retrieved." Jim nodded toward the coin on the other end of the table. "That should have gone to Hickman's family."
"Maybe somebody found it, and sent it to you, figuring you could get it back to Hickman's family?" Blair ventured, though he wasn't convinced.
"Whoever sent this must know about my last mission to Peru. Know about what happened. Know that Hickman was one of my men. Know yesterday was the anniversary of the crash."
Blair grimaced at this observation, having hoped Jim wouldn't remember the date. He should have known better. "Jim, I know about your last mission to Peru, remember? Your story was in "News Update" after they rescued you. The article named the men who had died."
The older man nodded, swallowing. "Yeah, but after ten plus years, do you remember their names?" he asked thickly.
"Point," Blair admitted. "Oh, hey, two of my grants have been approved. I received the letters today."
"That's great, Chief." Jim gratefully accepted the change to a lighter topic. "Does that mean you'll be buying the groceries for a while?"
Blair rolled his eyes. "Funny, man. You are so not funny."
Ellison chuckled, finishing off his beer.
March 23, TuesdayAnother day almost over. Jim arrived home just as Blair was getting the mail. "Hey, man."
"Hey, Chief," the detective greeted him with a weary sigh.
Blair took a closer look at his friend, noting the creased forehead and squinting eyes. Headache. With a calm assuredness he wouldn't have displayed a few months ago, he gripped his Sentinel's elbow and gently steered him into the elevator. Still maintaining a light contact, the Guide spoke. "Okay, Jim. Do your breathing." When the big man had done that, almost instantly relaxing, Blair continued. "Good. Now, find the pain dial and turn it down a notch. Keep going until it's just tolerable. Don't erase it completely, pain reminds you there's something wrong. We'll work on the tension when we get upstairs."
Jim sighed in relief, smiling down at his partner. "Thanks, Chief. I've been trying to do that all afternoon, but only succeeded in getting it to five."
"Where's it at now?"
"Two."
"Oh, man, that must be some headache."
The elevator doors opened and they stepped off. As they walked to their door, Jim said, "I'll certainly be glad to get rid of it."
Blair nodded in sympathy as Jim allowed him to step inside first. He turned back around to face his partner as they each shrugged out of their jackets. Blair was still holding the mail and he had to shift it from one hand to the other. "Rough day? You should have called me. I thought we'd agreed, no more leaving me behind."
Jim held up his hands to fend off the flow of words. "Whoa, Chief. It was nothing like that." The older man stepped to the couch and sagged into the cushions. "My morning was filled with paperwork, and my afternoon with a deposition at the D.A.'s office. For four solid hours. The headache started soon after I started answering their stupid questions. I'm beat."
Blair set the mail temporarily on the table and went behind his friend. Placing his broad hands on either side of Jim's neck, he used his thumbs to gently knead a path from just behind Jim's ears down to where neck met shoulder. He heard the quiet exhalation of air, felt the slight relaxation in the broad shoulders, and smiled.
Several minutes later, Jim's soft voice broke the silence. "The pain's gone, Chief. Thank you."
Blair smiled, though Jim couldn't see it. He slid his hands onto his Sentinel's shoulders, patted them, then withdrew. "You're welcome, Jim. Any time," he said quietly. Blair moved back to the table, picked up the mail, and began to sort through it.
"Uh-oh."
"What?" Jim's head swiveled around from the couch to look.
With trepidation, Blair held up a white disk mailer. He silently groaned when he saw Jim's jaw muscles bulge and blue eyes turn to ice. The big man was off the couch and plucking the package out of his hands in an instant.
He waited anxiously as Jim simply stared at it, making no move to open it. Finally, taking a steadying breath, Ellison pulled the zip cord, and upturned the mailer. As expected, a coin fell into the big man's palm.
Blair exhaled softly. He looked up to see the jaw muscles doing their dance. He could almost see Jim's neck and shoulder muscles tighten, and he reached up a hand to his friend's shoulder. Jim closed his eyes for a moment, then silently reached out to flip the coin over. They read the name inscribed: "M. Johnson, SFC." The grad student waited for Jim's reaction, expecting an explosion, but instead felt his partner relax just slightly. "Jim?"
With a heavy sigh, the big man turned his gaze to Blair. "I don't know him, Chief. There was no Johnson in my group." Jim's voice was filled with a mixture of relief and confusion.
Blair furrowed his brow, equally confused. He reached for the coin. Jim didn't protest. Quickly slipping on his glasses, he studied the piece of metal. Everything but the name on the scroll was identical to the first coin received. "That's strange, man. Very strange. Why would someone send you a coin of someone you don't even know?"
Jim shook his head. "I don't know, but I have a bad feeling about this."
Blair grimaced. "Yeah."
Taking back the coin, studying it, Ellison said, "I think I'll make a couple of phone calls tomorrow. See what I can find out about who this belongs to. Right now, the only common denominator I see, is that we were all in the same unit."
"Who're you gonna call?"
Jim looked up at him now, giving him a crooked smile. "I still have a couple of contacts at Fort Bragg. They might be willing to give me some information."
Around two o'clock the next afternoon, Blair entered the bullpen. Returning a favor to a friend, he'd spent his morning at the University proctoring exams. Now it was time to help his partner. "Hi, Jim. How's it goin'?"
Jim looked up. "Hey. Just great. Paperwork and more paperwork."
Blair grinned, bouncing on his toes. "Well, I guess that's what I'm here for, huh? To rescue you from the dreaded paperwork monster."
Jim scooted his chair back and stood up, gesturing for Blair to take a seat. Before the police observer sat down, a familiar hand came to rest on his shoulder. He looked up into concerned blue eyes.
"You're here for more than just the paperwork, Chief. I hope you know that."
Blair was surprised by this unexpected reassurance and affirmation of their partnership. These coins must have him a little more rattled than I thought. He reached up and gripped the bigger man's arm. "Yeah, Jim. I do. Thanks."
Jim smiled faintly, squeezing Blair's shoulder before dropping his hand. The grad student flashed his friend an encouraging smile as he sat down. The detective took the chair beside the desk.
As he slipped his glasses on and opened the first folder, Blair asked, "Did you find out anything about the coin?"
Jim nodded, resting an elbow on the desk as he perused another file. "Yeah. Michael Johnson, age fifty. He retired from the Army two years ago."
"Anything else?" Blair sensed that his partner had learned something unsettling.
"His specialty was communications."
"The same as Hickman?"
Jim nodded again. "Yeah."
Blair chewed on the inside of his lip, lost in thought. Finally, he looked at his partner. "Coincidence?"
"Maybe, but do you think so?"
"No," he admitted. "Still no idea what this could be about?"
Jim sighed, sitting back in the chair. "No, but it seems like, whatever it is, it's personal."
Blair tilted his head in agreement, watching his partner. He could tell another tension headache was in the offing if he didn't do something to take Jim's mind off the mystery. Before he could say anything, however, his partner shrugged and shook his head.
"Well, the problem's not going anywhere. I guess we'll just have to wait and see. Why don't we get to work on these files?"
"Sounds fine to me. Jim?" When he had his friend's full attention, Blair leaned forward and placed a hand on Jim's forearm. "We'll figure this out."
Jim gave him a tiny smile, and patted his hand. "Yeah. We will." The detective went back to reading his file. Blair began typing up the report on the file in front of him.
April 1, ThursdayBlair worked late at the University. After his last class, he ensconced himself in his office to finish grading the tests he'd given the day before. He could have taken them home to finish, but since he only had a few remaining, Blair figured he could make short work of them and post the grades well ahead of the posting deadline. Around eight o'clock, just as he'd begun posting grades for the second half of his students, Blair was struck by an uneasy feeling that compelled him to hurry home.
Blair hadn't had the chance to fully analyze it, but he knew Sentinel and Guide were connected by some invisible cord. The connection had always been there, but after the events with an enemy named Alex Barnes nearly a year earlier, their bond had deepened and blossomed into an almost tangible thing. Alex had tried to break that bond, almost succeeding. In the end, the Guide and his chosen Sentinel had emerged intact and stronger for their ordeal. Jim was aware of the link, even listened to it when it resonated, but he preferred not to think about it. The metaphysical still unnerved him. Blair embraced the link, never ignoring its call. When he suddenly got the feeling something was wrong with his Sentinel, he obeyed. He quickly gathered his things, locked his office, and jumped in his car.
The feeling of unease increased as Blair approached the door to the loft. He wasn't experiencing the mind numbing fear he would if his Sentinel were in mortal danger, and for that he was thankful, but he was worried. When he opened the door, Blair found the living room lit only by the small lamp on the end table. His partner was sitting on the couch, fingering something shiny in one hand, and holding a beer in the other. The older man didn't acknowledge his presence. Blair took off his jacket and hung it on a hook. Quietly, he walked to the couch. As he down beside Jim, he could see what his friend was toying with.
Blair gasped softly. "Another one?"
Jim nodded, staring at the floor beyond his crossed ankles.
Blair laid a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. "Do you know this one?"
Again, Jim nodded. When he finally broke the silence, his voice was barely above a whisper. "Kelly Hill, Sergeant First Class. He was my medic. He made us all laugh. He had a wife and six-year-old daughter when we went to Peru." Jim's voice cracked. "He was so proud of her."
Blair's throat tightened. He, the man of many words, had none for this occasion. Instead, Blair did the only thing he could think to do. He placed an arm around Jim's shoulders and pulled the big man close. Jim came unresisting into the embrace. They sat that way for a long time. While Blair held his friend, he wondered who could be sending the coins, and about their purpose. The two coins belonging to the men of Jim's team were obviously meant to unsettle the former military man. Judging by his friend's current reaction, they were succeeding. But why the second coin? Jim didn't know that man. As Blair continued to think on it, his anger began to build. Jim had been through so much. The older man didn't deal well with his past, repressing much of it, including the tragic mission to Peru. Now, some person was apparently going to wage a psychological war with James Ellison. Blair was determined not to let his partner, his Sentinel, be lost to it. He would do whatever he could, whatever it took to help his friend.
Jim straightened, and Blair loosened his grip. "Chief?" Jim gently tapped his leg, and he looked up into questioning blue eyes. "What is it? Your heart's pounding like a trip hammer."
"This." Blair waved toward the offending coin. "I'm so mad. If this is someone's idea of an April Fool's joke, it's not funny! Who's doing this? Why are they tormenting you? I'm not going to let them get away with this. We're gonna find whoever this is and...and...."
"Easy, Chief, easy. Calm down."
Blair inhaled deeply, closing his eyes long enough to center himself. Opening them, he realized Jim was smiling at him. "Sorry. I guess I got a little carried away. It's just--It's just that...."
"It's all right, buddy. I understand. I agree, the joke's not funny, but like you said, we're gonna figure this out." Jim switched the beer bottle to his other hand, and gave Blair's shoulder an encouraging squeeze. Hesitantly, he said, "Thanks for coming home. I know you had intended to stay late."
"Not a problem, man. You needed me."
Ellison simply smiled, then patted Blair's shoulder and got to his feet. "If you want, why don't you see if you can find a game or something? I'm gonna go hit the can, then change clothes."
Blair nodded, noticing Jim still had the coin. He watched as the big man deposited the empty bottle in the kitchen, and headed into the bathroom. Blair turned around and picked the remote up off the coffee table. Once he located the game, he went to the fridge and pulled out two more beers. When Jim rejoined him on the couch, the coin was nowhere in evidence. Blair assumed it had been tucked away with the others. A sudden thought occurred to him. "Jim, did you check the coins for fingerprints?" Blair felt the detective stiffen, and saw his jaw clench. Slowly, Jim's eyes turned to meet Blair's.
"No," Ellison whispered, obviously stunned by his oversight.
Blair swallowed. "Uh, we messed up, didn't we?"
Jim nodded stiffly, rubbing a hand over his face. "Damn."
There was silence for a long moment. Blair finally shrugged. "Well, unfortunately, there will probably be another one in the near future."
The detective grimaced, but nodded in agreement. Resolutely he turned his attention to the game, and Blair followed suit.
Blair came awake with a start. He lay silent for a moment, trying to figure out what had awakened him. Finally, he heard the faint creak of floorboards, and Jim's gasping breaths. Even as he strained his ears, the gasping stopped. He debated whether or not he should go see what was wrong, but something told him no, so he let Jim have his privacy.
He lay awake, staring up at the ceiling, listening for his friend's movements. Eventually, Blair heard the soft rustle of sheets, and the sound of a body lying back down. He didn't take his eyes off the ceiling. Finally, when Blair guessed his friend had gone back to sleep, he relaxed. With a quiet sigh, he rolled over.
The next thing Blair heard was his alarm going off and the sound of the shower. With a groan he slapped the switch and sat up. Elbows on knees, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. When he heard the water shut off he levered himself to his feet and began rummaging for clothes to wear.
"Morning, Chief. Your turn," his roommate called.
"Thanks." Blair emerged from his room and shuffled into the bathroom. Twenty minutes later, showered, shaved, and dressed, he joined Jim at the table. Blair reached for the coffee and took a sip, closing his eyes in appreciation. Setting the cup down, he dug into the plate of eggs before him.
They ate quietly for a while, content in each other's company. Blair finished his eggs and picked up his coffee again, looking at Jim. He noted the fatigue in the blue eyes and faint lines of tension in the face. The older man met his gaze quizzically. "What?"
Blair shrugged. "Nothing, man. You just look a little ragged this morning. Trouble sleeping?"
Reluctantly, the detective nodded. "Bad dream. It kept me up for a while."
Before Blair could question him, Jim held up a hand. "I don't want to get into it now, okay? It was just a dream."
Blair could see the unvoiced plea in Jim's blue eyes, and the stubborn set to his jaw. That alone told him there was more to it, but for the time being he'd abide by Jim's wishes. He nodded agreement, and saw his friend relax. "You'd tell me, if there was something really wrong, wouldn't you?"
Jim lowered his coffee mug, and met Blair's gaze. "Yes, Blair. I would, and I will. I remember our promise, Chief. No more trying to protect each other from our inner demons. From now on we discuss things that could be potential threats to 'us'."
Blair relaxed, smiling. "All right, then."
Jim returned the smile, and reached over to ruffle Blair's hair.
The younger man ducked. "Ah, man, not the hair." He swatted at Jim's hand.
Chuckling, the big man got up from the table and carried his plate to the kitchen. With a grin, Blair followed suit. After the few breakfast dishes were done, the two men grabbed their jackets and left the loft.
April 10, SaturdayThe phone rang. With a groan, Blair unburied his head from under the covers. 7:00 AM. It was supposed to be their day off. Only one person would knowingly call this early and risk the Sentinel's ire. The phone rang again. This time he reached for the handset on his night table.
"'ello?"
"Sandburg?"
"Morning, Simon. What's up?"
"I need to speak to your partner. Murder's getting a jump start on the weekend."
"Okay. I think he's in the shower. I'll get him."
"I'm right here, Chief."
Blair looked blearily at the towel-wrapped figure standing in his doorway, and held the phone out to him. "Simon."
While Jim talked to the captain, Blair levered himself out of bed and propelled himself toward the bathroom. Jim swatted him playfully on the rear on his way by. Blair stifled a yelp of surprise, and slapped in the general direction of the Sentinel's arm. He heard a quiet chuckle follow him into the bathroom.
Blair emerged feeling more human. Scooting into his room, he quickly dressed, then joined his partner in the kitchen.
"Morning, Jim. What'd Simon have?"
"Morning, Chief. We just have time for a donut and bagel. A body's been discovered in a dumpster behind the steam plant. Simon wants us to check it out. From the sounds of it, it isn't pretty."
Blair arched an eyebrow. "Is any murder?"
Jim shrugged.
When they arrived, Rafe, Brown, and a forensics team were already there. Two uniforms were still in the process of putting up yellow tape. Blair got out of the Ford and followed his partner. Abruptly, Jim stopped, halting Blair with a hand placed on his chest. "Chief, it's going to be ugly."
Blair looked up questioningly, and saw the older man's pinched face and convulsive swallowing. The Guide fastened a hand to his Sentinel's arm. "Jim, dial it back. If you can't filter out whatever it is, dial it back until you can barely detect it. You can do it."
Several seconds passed. Blair watched as Jim took a tentative breath, then relaxed. Blair relaxed as well. "Thanks, Chief."
The younger man simply shrugged. "What is it?"
Jim grimaced, reluctant to answer. "Burnt flesh. The corpse has been burned."
Blair paled. "Oh, man."
His partner nodded, patting him on the back. Wordlessly they resumed their walk across the lot.
Rafe met them halfway. "Hi guys. Lovely way to spend a beautiful Saturday, huh?" "Yeah," Blair murmured. The younger detective gave him a sympathetic look before turning to Jim. "All we've been able to determine so far is that the victim is male. It appears his throat was slit, then his body was put in the dumpster and ignited."
Jim nodded in acknowledgement as they reached the dumpster. Blair hung back, willing to put off viewing the body as long as possible. The stench alone was turning his stomach, and he wondered how far Jim had his smell dial turned down. As the Sentinel peered into the trash container, Blair kept a close eye on him. After a moment, Jim glanced significantly at Blair. He swallowed, and nodded, understanding that his partner was preparing to examine the body more closely. "Frank, you get pictures of this yet?" When the forensics photographer nodded, the detective climbed into the dumpster. Blair moved closer, still avoiding looking inside. He started up a sentinel-soft monologue to help guide his friend through the grisly task and keep the Sentinel from focusing too much on one sense.
"The body burned for quite a while, though not long enough to erase the fact that the victim was human, and male. The fingers and toes are charred. It's going to be difficult getting prints lifted from them." Jim's voice sounded hollow coming from the metal container. Blair risked a look inside, and regretted it. He took a deep, ragged breath, and forced himself under control. Jim shot him an appraising look. The younger man simply shrugged. Several minutes later, the detective emerged from the dumpster. His face was set in stone. Not even the bulging jaw muscles moved.
"The throat was definitely slit," Jim said to the others. "Whoever it was, knew what they were doing. They sliced both carotids, and the wind pipe. The guy died in seconds."
Rafe and Brown nodded.
"It doesn't appear that he had any ID on him. I didn't find any evidence of a wallet or anything." Jim gripped Blair by the shoulder and gently steered him away from the side of the dumpster. "Who found the body?"
"A Joe Hanson. He works the morning shift," Brown answered. "Said he noticed an awful stench coming from the dumpster, and came to check it out. Poor guy. He didn't expect this."
Jim's jaw muscle danced as he nodded. "Any witnesses?"
"We haven't found any so far. The last shift goes home at midnight, and the first shift comes in at six," Rafe supplied.
Ellison turned, surveying the surrounding area. The steam plant, a tool and die maker, and a heavy machinist shop were the only inhabitants of this nearly forgotten block of the city. Blair could sense his partner's frustration over the lack of clues.
"Did you get Hanson's statement?" Jim asked, moving back to examine the trash container itself. Blair moved with him.
"Yeah, Rafe took it. Hanson's promised to come to the station after his shift to sign it."
Jim acknowledged this, then turned his full attention to the dumpster. Blair watched, staying quiet, offering sentinel-soft advice when he thought his friend was concentrating too hard. "Anything?" he asked softly, when the Sentinel finished. A slight shake of the head was the only answer.
The detective directed the forensics photographer on what further pictures he wanted, then turned back to the others. "Well, it looks like we've got all we're going to get from here at the moment. We'll see you guys later."
When they reached the truck, Jim stopped. Blair gave his partner a puzzled look. The big man's hand came up to cup Blair's neck. "Chief, you gonna be okay?"
Blair waved a hand, nodding. "Yeah, yeah. I'll be fine. Let's detour to Legion Park on the way to the station, okay?"
"Why?"
"Just trust me on this, please?" Blair wasn't above using his large, expressive eyes on Jim, and he used them to full advantage now.
"All right. We'll go by the park." Jim gave Blair a mildly irritated glare, then moved to the driver's side and climbed in. Blair quickly scrambled in the other side.
The younger man fidgeted nervously the whole way, but refused to answer Jim's questions with more than a "Later." Or "You'll see." Once they reached the park, Blair practically exploded from the truck. "C'mon," he ordered, striding off to a stand of evergreens. Jim followed.
"Sandburg! What the hell are you doing?"
Blair turned around to face Jim, his expression serious. "Okay, Jim. Close your eyes." He dropped his voice into Guide mode.
"Sandburg."
"Jim--close your eyes." With an exasperated noise Jim did as asked. "Okay. See the dial for your sense of smell. What's it turned to?"
"One."
"Turn it up to four and breathe deeply through your nose." Blair followed his own directions as he watched the Sentinel closely. After each breath, Jim's face relaxed a little further. "What do you smell, Jim?"
"Trees. Grass. Flowers. Water...." Jim opened his eyes and stared incredulously at Blair. "How did you know?"
Blair grinned, rocking on his toes. "I'm your Guide, I'm supposed to know these things." He chuckled at Jim's rolled eyes. "Seriously, all I could smell was--that, and all I could think about was drowning it out with something else. Then I thought how much worse it probably was for you, knowing your reaction when we got there. I took one look at your stone face, and figured that even though you probably had the dial set to near zero, some of it must still be getting to you. Knowing what I needed, knowing what you needed, I decided woods would do the trick. So--here we are." Blair gestured around them.
Jim gave him a wry smile. "Thanks, Chief."
"Not a problem."
"My Guide once again watching out for his Sentinel," Jim said, only half teasing. He clapped a hand on Blair's shoulder and steered him back to the truck.
"Hey, it's in the job description, man," Blair quipped.
They shared a laugh, the Guide feeling very pleased with himself. The rest of the ride to the station was made in a considerably lighter mood. When they arrived, Jim went to fill the captain in while Blair sat down at Jim's desk and started pulling the paperwork for a new case file. The overall mood held for the rest of the morning. The forensics photos arrived in a manila folder around noon. Jim opted to go get some lunch before looking over the pictures, and Blair was more than happy to join him.
The rest of the afternoon was spent studying the crime scene photos, and going over the forensics and medical examiner's preliminary reports. Blair looked at one of the less gruesome pictures. With sadness, he realized any hope they had of solving this case rested with the one legible print they'd managed to lift from the victim's burned fingers. If and when they could find out the man's identity, they might determine motive. Until then, there were no clues to follow. Blair knew Jim hated cases like this. He hated the ones that demanded time pass before divulging even a hint of a clue. He didn't blame his partner. Blair wondered about any family the victim might have, what they must be feeling, not knowing. As long as their John Doe remained a John Doe, any family would remain in the dark about their loved one's disappearance.
"C'mon, Chief. Time to pack up and go home." Jim's voice startled Blair out of his reverie and he looked up to see the detective already standing. Blair quickly shoved the pictures back in their envelope, put the file away, and stood up. He reached for the jacket Jim was holding out to him.
"Thanks, Jim," he mumbled around a large yawn.
Ellison just smiled, and gently guided Blair out of the bullpen with a hand to his back. "Why don't we go to that Italian place over on Third?"
"Sounds good to me, man."
Fed, happy, and content, the two men entered the ground floor of their building. Blair was regaling his partner with a feasting ritual of some tribe he'd once studied in a remote jungle in South America.
"Dammit!"
Blair stopped mid-sentence, eyes darting to the handful of mail Jim had just pulled from the box. He groaned when he spied the square, white cardboard mailer. Jim shot Blair an angry glance, and stepped onto the elevator. The younger man quickly followed. Blair worried at his bottom lip as he watched his friend's expression grow more and more remote.
Wordlessly they stepped out of the elevator and to their door. Upon entering the loft, Jim shrugged out of his coat and stalked to the table. After hanging up his own jacket, Blair turned the light on in the living room, then returned to Jim's side. He wasn't sure if the knot of apprehension he felt in his stomach was for what was in the package or for his partner's reaction to it. Shoving the anxiety down, Blair moved closer to his friend and laid a comforting hand on the Sentinel's back. He watched silently as Jim carefully picked up the mailer, opened it, and dumped the contents into an evidence bag he'd pulled from his jacket. The Guide held his breath as he waited for Jim to bring the coin closer for inspection. A few moments later, Blair felt the muscles under his hand relax slightly, and knew this wasn't one of Jim's team. In the next instant the big man slammed the coin on the table and spun away. Quick, long strides took the Sentinel to the balcony doors, where he stopped and stared out over his city.
"Jim?" Blair looked from his friend to the table, back to his friend. When no answer was forthcoming, Blair looked back at the table and picked up the plastic bag. Maybe he had been wrong. Squinting, he read the name: P. Morrow, SFC. It wasn't one of the men from Jim's team. After the last coin, Blair had pulled the "News Update" article from among the early research material he had on the Sentinel, and re-read the story, memorizing the names of Jim's men. As if to confirm his knowledge, Jim spoke from the balcony doors.
"He wasn't one of my men, Chief. I don't know any Morrow."
Blair set the coin back on the table. Turning around, he gazed at his friend, who was now leaning against the side of the window, arms crossed. "So, now we have two you know, and two you don't."
"Yeah." In a fit of frustration, Jim hit the brick wall with the flat of his hand. Blair winced, hoping the Sentinel had remembered to turn down his touch dial before getting so physical with the wall. He went to his partner.
"Is there any kind of pattern you can see?"
"No, damnit. Don't you think I've tried?"
"Relax, Jim. It's all right. We'll figure this out." Blair gripped the Sentinel's shoulder.
Jim sighed, giving Blair a faint smile. "Yeah, I know. But this is beginning to frustrate the hell out of me."
"I know," Blair answered. "So, what do we know? Hickman and Hill were on your team. Johnson and now Morrow were not. All of you were in the same unit. Could Johnson and Morrow have been in with you at the same time?"
Ellison shrugged. "It's possible. The Seventh also has a station in Central America. You know, there's something else that's been bothering me about all this. I can't quite put my finger on it, though."
"Something to do with the coins themselves? Do you think you know Johnson or Morrow after all?" Blair's voice went into Guide mode, and the Sentinel automatically responded to it.
The big man shook his head. "I don't think so. It's something to do with the coins' arrival. The timing seems odd somehow."
"Okay...let's see. I remember Hill's coin arrived on April first, because I thought it was someone's idea of a poor joke, remember?" Jim nodded. "Just a minute...." Blair rushed to his room and returned with one of his personal journals. Jim looked at him quizzically, but the younger man held up a hand, before starting to flip pages. "Here it is. The first coin showed up on March fifteenth. That's the same day two of my grant approvals came through."
"Okay."
Blair flipped a few more pages. "Johnson's coin came March twenty-third." More pages were turned. "Yeah, Hill's coin came April first, nine days ago." Blair looked up from the journal, but Jim was staring out over the city again.
"Except for the first coin they've been nine days apart," the big man said quietly. "I'm still missing something."
Blair thought for a moment, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth. When Jim suddenly turned to stare at him, he realized his heart had picked up speed. "Uh, the fifteenth was a Monday. What if Hickman's coin had actually arrived a day earlier--on the fourteenth. That would put nine days between the first and second coins."
"Okay. So?"
Blair took a deep breath. "Think about it. Pair them up, and it adds up to eighteen days." Jim's confused look didn't change. "Eighteen days--eighteen months?" Blair ventured uncertainly.
The big man's confusion turned to dismay, and he closed his eyes. After a moment, he opened them. "Beginning with the anniversary of the crash. You think they're linked somehow?"
"Well, look how they've been delivered. First a man from your team, then someone you don't know, then another man from your team, now another one you don't know. Seems to me they've got to be linked in some way."
Jim nodded. "It makes sense, and I'm somehow the linchpin. The question now is, how are they linked?"
"Hey, man, I can't think of everything," Blair teased. His friend smiled, reaching out to ruffle Blair's hair.
"Is that so? Well, I guess it's a good thing I'm a detective, huh?"
"Yep."
Jim actually chuckled a little at this. "I'm gonna have a beer, how 'bout you?"
Blair nodded. "Sounds good." While Jim retrieved the beers, the anthropologist put away his journal. They settled on the couch to watch an inane comedy on AMC.
"Jim, are you going to tell Simon about the coins?" Blair inquired a long time later.
The older man sighed. "I don't know. When it was a one or two shot thing, I wasn't. I didn't see any need. But now--I don't know."
"He's your friend too, I think you should tell him. He'd like to know about this."
"You're probably right, Chief. We'll see."
"Okay." Blair yawned. Rubbing a hand over his face, he said, "I'm goin' to bed. Night, Jim."
"Night, Chief."
Blair stood, and went first to the bathroom. When he came out, and headed for his room, Jim spoke again.
"Chief?"
He looked back at his friend.
"Thanks. For everything today."
Blair smiled, waved, and disappeared inside his room.