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Blair wanted to explode.
After giving his statement to the Feds and to Major Stoltz, and then a second time to the Feds, Simon had let him drive Jim's truck back to the station. Now, he was pacing in the big man's office.
He knew his nervous energy was about to drive Simon up the wall, but the captain refused to let him leave. He supposed, with some amusement, that Simon was attempting to keep him out of trouble. He almost felt like laughing. Almost. Problem was, if he laughed, it would quickly turn to hysteria, and Blair so did not want to go there. Not in the bullpen. So, he waited, along with Simon.
"Sandburg," Simon said. "You're beginning to remind me of your partner, stalking back and forth like that."
Blair stopped abruptly, and looked at the captain. "Sorry, Simon." With exaggerated care he took a seat at the conference table. Though seated, it was only moments before his legs started bouncing with nervous tension. He leaned forward on his elbows, then sat back, dragging his hands through his hair. "God, when are we going to hear something?"
Simon sighed, but was silent for a moment. "Ah, hell, Sandburg. Go do something constructive on the computer."
Blair didn't hear him. He was as still as he had been frenetic a moment before. Jim? Blair's focus turned inward. He could sense his partner through their connection. It was faint, but definitely there. He concentrated. I'm here, Jim. I will always be here. What happened in Peru was not your fault. Believe that. It was beyond your control. It's in the past. Blair felt the inner tension ease, as if Jim had heard him and finally did believe.
"Sandburg? Blair?"
The observer blinked, and focused on Simon. "Uh, sorry, Simon."
"You all right?"
"Yeah, fine. Just, uh, doing some meditation. You know, to try to calm down." Blair offered a smile.
Simon continued to stare at him, concern written in every feature. Finally, he nodded. "Whatever it was, it seems to have worked."
Blair's smile widened a little. He stood up. "I'm going to go do some research on the computer." An unspoken request to be informed of any news passed between them, and the captain nodded.
Nearly an hour later, Blair looked up when Simon opened his door. The captain gestured to him. Tucking his glasses in his shirt pocket, he quickly joined the bigger man in his office. The eyes of the other detectives followed him. They were all anxious to hear word of their friend.
Simon was leaning on his desk, his face grim. Blair took a seat and waited silently, chewing on his lower lip. Finally, the captain raised his head and met his gaze, the dark eyes suspiciously bright. "I got the call. An hour ago, a military helicopter crashed into the side of a mountain near Harts Pass in Mount Baker National Forest. They don't think there were any survivors."
Blair's heart felt like it was in a vise. His stomach lurched, but he forced himself to relax. "And they're sure it was the one Turnbow took?"
Simon nodded.
"What's the rest of it, Simon?"
The captain sighed heavily. "Thirty minutes before it went down, the chopper appeared on radar, steadily gaining speed and altitude. One of the choppers scrambled to search caught up to it just outside North Cascade National Park. They saw one jumper. They didn't see any others."
Blair sat in stunned silence for a long moment. "You mean….What about his partner? Did he just kill him, too? God, how cold can this guy be?" Blair closed his eyes. A large hand squeezed his shoulder, startling him. He met Simon's sympathetic expression.
"Blair, I'm sorry. Why don't you go on home? If you want, I'll call you when I hear the results of the search."
"What? No, Simon, we have to go there. Jim might need our help."
"Sandburg. Blair--"
"Simon, listen to me. Jim is alive. I would know if he wasn't."
"Blair, from the sound of it, the chopper is in a million pieces."
"I don't care about the chopper. Jim is alive. I don't know where or how, but he is alive. Now, how far is it to Harts Pass?"
"Sandburg," Simon growled in warning.
Blair clenched his jaw. He could be as stubborn as his partner when he needed to be. "Simon, do you believe Jim is a Sentinel?" A nod. "Do you understand that I am his Guide? The person who watches the Sentinel's back, protects the Sentinel from harm, as he protects others?" Another, more reluctant nod. "I know Jim told you about the vision he had in order to bring me back after the fountain. Do you believe it?" An uncomfortable nod. "Once a Guide chooses a Sentinel, and that Sentinel accepts the Guide, they are bound. They will always know where the other is, what the other needs. Jim is my Sentinel, I am his Guide, we are bound. The connection was always there, fragile as a thread, but after the fountain, after the temple, it became as thick and strong as a rope. We. Are. Bound. I would know in an instant if Jim was dead, and I am telling you that the connection is very much intact. Jim is alive."
Blair spoke with such conviction and determination that Simon had little choice but to believe him. The big man stared down at the anthropologist for several minutes. Blair waited for the acquiescence he was sure would come. When it did, he said, "Good. Now, how far is it?"
Simon straightened. "It's a little over a hundred and forty miles by road." He paused. "Go home and pack. I'll pick you up in an hour. Remember, we'll be in the mountains, it'll still be cold and maybe snowy. And don't forget to pack some stuff for your partner."
Blair's face lit with a huge grin. "Thanks, Simon." He jumped to his feet and was out the door before the captain could even think about changing his mind.
Jim watched as the ground loomed larger and larger. He was somewhat amazed to be in a position to watch the ground come up at him. With barely twenty seconds before the helicopter impacted the mountain, Widden and Dunning had pulled the pilot out of the cockpit, and jumped. Thinking everyone well away, Jim had said a silent apology to Blair for being unable to come back, and prepared to die. However, Carson had had other ideas. The older man had stayed behind to pull him out, and though dismayed the man had taken such a risk, he couldn't deny he'd leapt at the chance Carson had given him.
Jim braced himself for impact, knowing they were going to hit hard. He wasn't wrong. Parachute landings were always risky, no matter how many a person had done. Landing with a person in your arms could be suicidal. It had been more years than he'd been out of the service since Jim had done a tandem jump.
As if they'd done this before, he and Carson executed a proper two-footed landing. Despite this, the force of impact sent sharp pains radiating through his heels, ankles and shins. No bones were shattered, and as the adage went, any jump that could be walked away from was a good one. Gripping Carson's arm in thanks, Jim disengaged himself from the older man's hold and rushed to assist Widden with the pilot. Jim and Dunning took charge of the unconscious man, laying him on the ground while Widden and Carson gathered up the parachutes.
The pilot had lost a fair amount of blood, but it seemed to have slowed a little. The bullet had entered behind the man's left shoulder and exited out the left side of his chest. Jim could hear air leaking from the bullet's exit wound with each of the pilot's labored breaths, and he knew the lung had been punctured. Further investigation revealed a shattered shoulder blade, and at least one broken rib from the bullet. They were going to have to take care of the pneumothorax quickly if they wanted to keep the man alive.
Dunning placed the helicopter's first aid kit between them and they set to work. It took a while, but eventually they got the pilot's condition stabilized, or at least as stable as they could make it. He was going to have to be watched closely for any changes, but they had done all they could for the time being. With a tired sigh, Jim sat back on his heels, looking around for the first time.
Trees surrounded the small clearing they'd landed in. By concentrating just a little, Jim could hear the sound of water. He couldn't be sure if it was a stream or a river, but it would mean fresh water to drink. He glanced up at the sky, checking the position of the sun. It was still before noon.
"Captain, we can carry the pilot on this," Widden said. Jim looked over as the two men joined him and Dunning. They had a makeshift stretcher made with the rappelling ropes from the chopper and two long branches.
"Excellent job, Widden, Carson. I wasn't relishing the thought of us carrying him down the mountain on our backs."
"What do you want us to do now, sir?" Carson asked.
Jim glanced back up at the sky. "We have hours of daylight left, and I think I hear a stream not too far from here. Let's head for it, then push south. Maybe we'll find a road or a hiker's trail. We need to get the pilot to a doctor as soon as possible, and preferably before the temperature starts to drop. None of us is exactly prepared for cold weather." He indicated their lack of field jackets.
"There are space blankets in the medic's bag," Dunning reminded them.
Jim nodded. "Yeah, we should use one of those on our injured friend when we get him on the stretcher. Now, if only one of us had a weapon."
"I can help with that, too, Captain." Dunning produced two fighting knives and a .9mm pistol from another pack. "I found these when I was searching for the first aid kit."
"Give me one of the knives. You three decide who's going to get what's left." Jim attached the knife to his boot. It took only moments for the others to choose. Widden took a knife, and started to cut the chutes from their harnesses. Jim joined him, and they made short work of the three parachutes.
Moving and acting as though they'd always been a team, the four men quickly folded two of the chutes and placed them on the bottom of the stretcher. Quickly and efficiently they transferred the injured pilot to the makeshift conveyance. Instead of using the space blanket, they folded the leftover chute and placed it over him. With the parachute cording, they secured the man to the stretcher so he wouldn't fall off.
"Okay, move out. We'll trade off every hour," Jim said. He glanced up at the sky again. Far in the distance he could hear a faint rumble of thunder. He frowned, then gave the signal to get underway.
Dunning and Widden picked up the stretcher and fell into step behind Ellison. Carson brought up the rear, the remaining rappelling rope coiled over his shoulder. They knew they were in friendly territory, but years of military training kept them all on the lookout for trouble.
Thirty minutes later, they reached the stream. The three former NCOs exchanged bemused glances, but made no comment. They spent several minutes drinking and refreshing themselves. Widden cut a scrap of cloth from his t-shirt, soaked it, then applied it to the injured man's forehead. He repeated this process until the others had finished at the stream. Soon they were underway again, Jim and Carson bearing the stretcher.
They stopped every hour to catch a drink and exchange places. After the third such stop, Jim bent to take up the stretcher, but was gently moved aside by Carson. He gave the man a questioning look.
"Sorry, Captain. We don't mean to seem insubordinate, but it's become obvious to us that you're following some kind of trail. Why don't you keep point? We can handle the stretcher."
Jim was taken aback. "I can--"
"No need, sir. You led us right to this river, when the rest of us weren't sure it was here, and in case you haven't noticed, you've led us around some pretty dangerous obstacles we might've missed." Carson smiled proudly. "You can always tell the really good trackers from the pretenders, and you, son, are one of the best I've seen in a long time. The really good ones are practically one with the land, seeing, hearing, even smelling signs us mere soldiers miss until almost too late."
Jim stared at Carson, then the others. "I--uh--don't know what to say."
Widden grinned. "There's nothing to say, Captain. We've all had the training, but you, man, you live and breathe it. You remind me of some big jungle cat, the way you move, the way you check out your surroundings."
Jim had to chuckle at this assessment, despite his surprise. The chuckle died in his throat a moment later, as he looked up at the sky, turning toward the west.
The other three men exchanged grins. "What is it?" Carson asked.
Jim lowered his head and refocused on them. A hesitant smile twitched his lips. "There's a storm front moving this way."
"Can you tell how close?"
Jim shook his head. "No, but I don't think it'll be here for a while. Come on, let's move."
An hour later, instead of stopping, Dunning jogged up to Carson and took over the front of the stretcher, while Carson dropped back to take the rear of the stretcher and Widden took up the rearguard.
"It's amazing how fast it all comes back to you, you know?" Dunning commented to no one in particular.
"What's that?" Widden asked.
"Our training. I've been retired now for five years, but it's like I haven't been gone at all. We just fell into sync with each other without so much as a thought. I know that was an essential part of our training, being part of a team, but it's still fascinating that we assumed our roles so easily."
"Yeah, I guess you have a point," Widden agreed. "Until today I'd never met Ellison, but it just seemed natural to follow his command, and I don't think much of that has to do with him having been a captain."
"I know what you mean. I'm old enough to be the man's father, but I never thought twice about putting him in charge," Carson added from the front. The others made murmurs of agreement. They fell silent again as they concentrated on their trek.
Jim heard their discussion, and couldn't help smiling a little. Their words brought him a mixture of embarrassment, relief, and gratitude. He reiterated a silent vow he'd made to himself. He was going to do what he could to ensure that these men returned alive and in one piece. Jim was honest enough with himself to admit that Carson had been right, to a certain extent. He was following something, but it wasn't a trail. He was allowing his instincts to lead him, mainly because they were leading him in the direction he knew they needed to go anyway.
Another hour slipped away. The four men stopped to drink and rest a few minutes. Jim checked the pilot. The fever the injured man had developed a few hours ago was up another notch. Jim nodded at Widden, who placed the wet scrap of cloth on the man's forehead. While Widden tended to the pilot, Carson and Dunning foraged in the woods for edible berries.
Fifteen minutes later they were once again on the march. By silent accord, the four men picked up their pace. The shadows were growing longer, and they knew they didn't have many hours until nightfall. Dusk was fast approaching when Jim abruptly stopped, signaling the others to a halt. He looked toward the western sky again. The storm was closer, but that wasn't what had caught his attention. He swiveled his head, sniffing the air. There! Jim now knew where his instincts were leading him. To his Guide.
Jim signaled his men to move out, picking up the pace once more. He began angling slightly away from the river. Dusk was just enshrouding the forest when Jim froze. He cocked his head slightly. A moment later, a cold fury was burning inside him. Jim looked at the men, pressing a finger to his lips. When they nodded in understanding, he began to walk again, moving even more quietly than before. Widden and the others silently followed his example.
After ten minutes, Jim stopped again, but this time he joined his small team. He checked the pilot. Satisfied the man was still stable enough, Jim whispered, "Leave him here for a bit. Carson, Dunning, stay with him. Widden, with me. We have a little mission to perform."
The others looked at him strangely, but didn't ask any questions. Dunning and Widden moved the pilot's stretcher to the shelter of an evergreen and gently put it down. Dunning sat down beside the injured man while Carson stood watch. Jim nodded to them, then motioned to Widden, and they headed off into the encroaching darkness.
"Sandburg, tell me again why I let you talk me into this?"
Blair grinned at Simon. They had stopped in this small clearing to rest and decide whether they were going to push on or camp here for the night. "Because you want to believe me when I tell you Jim is alive, and you couldn't let me go off on my own."
Simon snorted. "You're damn right I couldn't let you go off on your own. With your sense of direction?"
"Yeah, yeah, but I know we're on the right course."
Banks sighed. "I believe you, Blair. It's not like we have a whole lot of options, anyway." Simon paused. "But I'm only giving you three days. If we don't find Jim by then, we're heading home."
"I know, Simon, you've already said that. But we won't need three days," Blair answered with quiet conviction. "I'm gonna go take a leak." Blair moved off into the trees.
When he finished, the Guide gazed off to the north. Jim, I know you're out there. Just trust your instincts.
Cold steel touched his neck. Blair froze. A hand gripped him around the shoulders from behind and a chillingly familiar voice spoke in his ear. "What do we have here? Ellison's faithful little friend."
"Turnbow."
The sergeant chuckled. "Surprised?"
"I guess I shouldn't be."
"No, you shouldn't. Come on. We need to get back to your captain friend."
Keeping the knife at Blair's throat and his hold firm, Turnbow forced Blair to walk back to the clearing. The observer was shocked to see Simon unconscious on the ground. Forgetting the knife, Blair gasped, then hissed in pain as the blade bit into his skin. "What'd you do to him?"
"Nothing permanent. Yet." Shifting his grip to a chokehold, Turnbow forced Blair down next to Simon. Blair struggled for breath while the man unlocked one of the cuffs around Simon's wrists, then snapped it around Blair's. With a firm shove, the sergeant released him. Blair toppled over, gasping as the awkward angle wrenched his shoulder. Righting himself with a grunt, the observer looked over Simon's unconscious form. Other than a nasty lump on his temple, Blair couldn't see any other injuries.
Simon groaned. Blair shot Turnbow a glance, but he ignored them. The sergeant was busying himself a few feet away building a camp fire. "Simon, wake up."
The big man groaned again, and attempted to sit up. Blair gave the captain leeway to pull himself up, but caught his breath in pain as Simon inadvertently pulled on his shoulder. Simon came fully awake then. He stared at Blair. The grad student smiled grimly as he watched the captain come to the same conclusions he had. Simon's gaze swiveled to the man at the fire.
"Welcome back, Captain Banks."
"Let me guess. You're Jake Turnbow."
"Very good, Captain. Now, you're probably wondering what I'm going to do with you." Turnbow paused to give them a malevolent grin. "I haven't quite figured that out yet. I could have killed you outright. In fact, I still could, or I could just leave you like that and let you make your way back down the mountain. Live or die would be up to you."
"If you were going to let us go, why ambush us in the first place?" Blair asked.
Turnbow smiled smugly. "Because I could."
Blair and Simon had nothing to say to that.
"It'll be dark soon. We're going to camp here for the night." Turnbow went to his pack.
While he was busy, Simon attempted to get up. Turnbow whirled, pistol aimed. "Don't move, Captain."
Simon settled back. "I was just going to get my arm in front of me."
"No. I like you just the way you are. Now, stay put."
Reluctantly, the big man obeyed. He cast an annoyed glance at Blair. "Only you, Sandburg. All this forest, and only you could run into the one fugitive in these parts."
"Me! Don't be blaming this one on me, Simon. Neither one of us was thinking about Turnbow, and you know it. Besides, who was it who got captured by rebels in Peru? Who was it who got kidnapped by Quinn? Who was it who got shot at his own high school reunion?"
"All right, all right. So we've both had our share of trouble," Simon conceded.
Turnbow was standing now, looking at them with a mixture of amusement and disgust. "Do you two always gripe like this?"
"Only on bad days," Blair replied.
"Which is usually," Simon deadpanned.
"Well, I don't wanna hear any more of it." Turnbow walked away, making a slow circuit of the clearing. He stopped on the other side of the campfire. Dusk had fallen and was rapidly descending into night. Apparently satisfied with his surroundings, Turnbow turned and knelt beside the fire.
Blair and Simon watched him silently. It had been hours since either man had eaten, and Blair wondered if Turnbow was going to feed them or make them go hungry. The observer felt Simon squeeze the hand that was cuffed to his, and Blair looked at the captain. Simon's expression was full of determination and silent reassurance. Blair smiled slightly, then returned his gaze to their captor.
As Blair watched, a dark shadow detached itself from its neighbors. His eyes went wide as the shadow resolved itself into a man. Swift as lightning, an arm snaked out and Turnbow found a knife at his throat. The irony wasn't lost on Blair, as he silently cheered his partner's arrival. Stealing a glance at Simon, he saw the older man staring, too.
Ellison quickly disarmed Turnbow, tossing the weapons to the other side of the fire. Slowly, Jim raised the man to his feet just by the pressure of the knife against his throat. "Twitch, and you die." Jim's calm, quiet voice carried across the small clearing. He laced his free arm under and around Turnbow's elbows, effectively immobilizing him.
"You're a cop now, Ellison. You can't kill me without breaking your policeman's oath."
The tip of the knife pressed a little deeper into the soft skin under Turnbow's left ear. A drop of blood appeared. "Do you care to test that theory?"
Turnbow subsided. "You're supposed to be dead."
"Didn't happen."
"How? I heard the explosion."
"The chopper crashed, just like you planned, but Carson and Widden pulled the pilot and me with them when they jumped. Damned foolhardy move, but I'm grateful just the same."
"No! You were supposed to die! Just like my father. Just like the other men you killed. You condemned seven good men to death! You need to pay for that." Turnbow kicked backwards, catching Jim in the shin. The knife at his throat bit through his skin, but he didn't seem to care. Struggling frantically, he got one hand free and elbowed Jim in the gut. Jim grunted, but didn't release him. To prevent Turnbow from accidentally killing himself, Jim shifted the knife so only the flat of the blade pressed against the man's throat.
"Listen, because I'm only going to say this once. I don't know what you think you know about Peru, but I lost seven good friends when that chopper was shot down. I should have died in that crash, too, but for whatever reason, I didn't. I buried a piece of myself when I buried them."
"Save your sob story. After you made sure they were all dead, you went on with your mission. You didn't even bother to try to contact HQ."
"And you call yourself a Special Ops soldier," Jim said disappointedly. "What's part of the creed we live by?" Turnbow refused to answer. "'Complete the mission, though I be the lone survivor.' Well, buddy, that's what I was, and that's what I did. For eighteen long months I helped the Chopec guard their pass against the very forces Oliver had working for him. It wasn't until a few years ago that I learned for sure Oliver had been involved."
With a growl of rage, Turnbow surged against Jim's hold and managed to tear himself free. Blood welled up on his neck, but he ignored the injury. He spun and charged. Knowing his opponent possessed the same skills he did, plus had the advantage of youth, Jim tossed his knife aside, unwilling to risk losing it. He met the sergeant's maddened assault with a raised knee to the gut. Turnbow staggered, but managed to let fly a fist that connected with Jim's solar plexus. Jim went down, and the sergeant was immediately on top of him. The two men wrapped their hands around each other's throats as they rolled and struggled. Ellison finally clapped Turbnow's ears with cupped hands, making the younger man's hold loosen. Jim took advantage, breaking Turnbow's grip and surging to his feet. The sergeant followed, swinging with his left. Jim avoided the punch and sent one of his own into Turnbow's stomach.
The two men broke apart, circling, eyeing each other for an opening. Turnbow charged again. Jim caught the man's shoulders, letting the force carry him to the ground. He brought both feet up to his chest and planted them in Turnbow's midsection, sending the man soaring over his head. Jim rolled to his feet and prepared to engage the sergeant again.
Blair watched the fight with a mixture of horror and fascination. He had rarely seen Jim use his skills so fluidly. Jim often seemed stiff and unsure when he had to fight someone. Watching him now, Blair realized the reason was staring him in the face. Jim knew this opponent, knew this guy had some of the same skills and training he had. Jim knew he didn't have to check himself. The ex-covert ops agent was probably trained in a thousand different ways to kill someone with his bare hands. He could, would, never unleash that kind of knowledge on an unsuspecting perp, no matter how skilled said perp seemed to be. That realization awed Blair anew.
Simon stiffened beside him. Blair glanced at the captain, and his eyes widened. Another man-shaped shadow had detached itself from its surroundings. Blair would have yelled a warning, but something told him this was friend, not foe. The man slunk forward, retrieved the discarded gun and two knives, then backed away, never taking his eyes off the combat. He stopped beside Simon. Only then did he glance at the two bound men, flashing a brief smile. "Hi. I'm Mitch Widden."
"The guy who was kidnapped a few days ago?" Blair asked softly.
"Yeah. The captain told me who you were." Widden's eyes narrowed as he studied the two fighters. He nodded a moment later. "They're almost finished."
Indeed, Blair and Simon refocused on the combatants just as Jim delivered an uppercut to Turnbow's chin. The sergeant went down, and didn't get up again. He wasn't quite unconscious, but close. Blood poured from his nose and a cut above his eye, and his entire face was puffy from swelling bruises. Jim was a little better off. He had a split lip, a cut above one eye, and another on his cheek.
Jim looked down at Turnbow, his chest heaving from his exertions. Wordlessly, he leaned over and patted the pockets of the sergeant's uniform. Locating and extracting the small key, he tossed it to Widden. Jim straightened, still staring down at the groggy man. "For ten years, I had repressed the memories of that mission and what happened. Thanks to you, I relived practically every painful moment of that ordeal. Thanks to a friend, I can now remember that time without guilt. He made me believe in a few truths. I couldn't change what happened. I couldn't know it was going to happen. I am a survivor. There is no shame in that. I survived so I could carry on with the mission. The shame, the betrayal, would have been if I had turned my back on my duty, in essence turning my back on them."
A grin split Blair's face. He was so proud of his partner. He believes! He really, honestly believes! Yes, finally! As soon as Widden had him free from the cuffs, he rushed to his Sentinel's side.
Jim turned his head slightly and gave him a slight smile. A hand came to rest tiredly on Blair's shoulder, squeezing gently, conveying warmth and friendship. Blair gripped his friend's arm, returning the smile.
By now Simon and Widden had joined them. Widden held out the cuffs. Jim took them, and hauled Turnbow to a sitting position by his shirt front. He let Widden hold him there while Jim moved around and locked the sergeant's wrists behind his back. Unceremoniously, Widden released his grip and let Turnbow flop back on to the ground. Jim did a cursory sweep with his senses while his hands checked the sergeant for injuries. He found nothing serious, and stood up.
Finally, Jim turned to face Simon, exhaustion written in every line of his face. "Hi, sir."
Simon returned the gaze, his face etched with concern. He nodded. "Good work, Ellison," he said formally. "I'm glad you're okay, Jim."
"Thanks, Simon. So am I." He automatically draped an arm over Blair's shoulder as the smaller man came up beside him again. Sentinel and Guide shared a moment of silent communion.
Blair swallowed a sudden lump in his throat as he reached up to squeeze Jim's hand. "I knew you'd come back," he whispered softly.
"I promised, didn't I?"
"Yeah. Yeah, you did." Blair didn't even try to wipe the silly grin off his face.
The moment passed, and Jim returned to the matter at hand. Not removing his arm from Blair's shoulders, he looked at Simon. "Do you have a way to get in touch with S&R?"
"The ranger station gave me a two-way before we headed up here. Turnbow put it in his pack," Banks answered.
"Good. I need to go back and get the others. The pilot's in serious condition from a gunshot wound. We'll need a med-evac chopper."
"Okay, Jim. It shouldn't take long. Last we heard they had two teams combing the site of the crash. Is there somewhere they can land?"
"The river's about fifty yards east of here. There should be enough room on the bank."
Simon nodded.
"I'm coming with you, man," Blair said.
Jim looked down at Blair, starting to shake his head. Blair cut him off. "You're exhausted, Jim. You might--"
"I might need you," Jim finished softly, nodding in agreement. "Widden, you lead Simon to the river. Blair and I will go collect the others, and join you there. Do you think you two will have a problem hauling this piece of trash to the river?"
"We'll manage fine, sir. See you at the river." Widden handed one of the knives to Jim.
Jim accepted the weapon, quickly tucking the knife into his boot. "Let's go, Chief."
It took only minutes to find the other men. Jim trilled a whistle as they approached, and one of the men responded with another. Soon they joined the others under the shelter of the evergreen. A space blanket had been draped over the man on the stretcher, and the other two were sharing another.
"How's he doing?" Jim asked immediately.
"His fever's up a little, but he's still hangin' in there," the older-looking of the two unhurt men said. He looked curiously at Blair. "You made civilian contact?"
Nodding at the question, Jim said, "Carson, Dunning, this is my partner, Blair Sandburg. Blair, Matt Carson and Rick Dunning."
"Hello," Blair greeted quietly. The two men acknowledged him with nods.
"Help's being called. We'll meet Widden and my boss at the river southeast of here."
Quickly and efficiently, the former soldiers prepared to move out. The shared blanket was refolded and put away, the two meager packs were strapped on, then Carson and Dunning picked up the stretcher. With a satisfied nod, Jim set off. The others fell into step behind him, Blair bringing up the rear.
It was full dark by the time they reached the section of riverbank where Widden and Simon were waiting. Widden had managed to light a small signal fire, and Simon had two heavy duty flashlights in hand.
Carson and Dunning started in surprise when they made out the figure in cuffs next to the fire.
"So that was the other mission you were talking about," Carson commented to Jim. "Somehow you knew Turnbow was here."
Jim didn't answer, but his blue eyes glittered ferally.
Sitting next to his partner, Blair felt Jim tense a few minutes later. Leaning closer to the Sentinel, he murmured, "The med-evac?" A tiny nod. "Okay. Dial it down, Jim. You can do it. I'm here."
By now everyone could hear the whir of rotor blades as the helicopter approached. Simon stood up with the flashlights in his hands, and waved their beams back and forth.
Once the chopper set down, four paramedics and a sheriff spilled out. Simon met the sheriff while two of the paramedics rushed to the gunshot victim. The remaining medics passed out granola bars, bottles of water, and blankets to the others, before beginning to check them over.
When they started examining Jim, one of the paramedics tried to get Blair to move, but after the harrowing day of worry and fear, he wasn't about to let Jim get more than an arm's length from him. Jim seemed to share his feelings, because the older man kept brushing his shoulder, arm, or leg. Finally, Blair figured out that Jim wasn't just seeking the physical contact to be close, but also as an anchor for his wavering control. He scooted closer to the Sentinel, until their shoulders touched. Jim flashed him a look of silent gratitude.
The partners sat in companionable silence while Jim munched on his granola bar. The paramedics worked around Blair as they tended to Ellison's minor cuts and contusions from the fight with Turnbow.
In a surprisingly short time, everyone and everything was loaded onto the chopper. Jim and Blair found a spot in the back and strapped themselves in.
"It's almost over, Chief," Jim said tiredly.
Blair wasn't sure if he meant the flight, or the whole ordeal in general. He guessed it was the latter, as he nodded.
"Happy anniversary, Blair."
Blair? Huh? The grad student stared at his partner. "What?"
Jim found the energy for a tiny smile. "Fountain splashes last year, helicopter crashes this year. We have to find a safer way of celebrating this date, Chief."
Blair paled as the realization hit him. It was May 20th. "No argument from me, man. I'll make a note--no near-death experiences allowed in May."
The big man chuckled softly, then said seriously, "It's been a long hard road from the fountain, but we made it. We're still friends, partners, more. Together."
Blair stared at him for a moment longer, then a huge grin lit his face. "Yeah. Together. I wouldn't have it any other way."
Together, Sentinel and Guide dozed, not caring when the sky opened up and rain began to fall.
August 20, FridayHumming a tune under his breath, Blair unlocked the door and entered the loft. "Hey, Jim! You're home."
Jim looked up from his task at the kitchen table, and smirked. "Gee, Darwin, you figure that out all on your own?"
"Ha ha, funny, man." Blair looked at the array of stuff scattered over the table. Notepad, padded mailers, and small white boxes. He realized his partner had been home a while. "Something wrong?"
"No. They released the coins today, and Simon let me take the rest of the day to take care of them."
"That was fast, wasn't it?" Blair watched his partner place a coin between some cotton batting inside one of the little white boxes, write a note, carefully fold it, address one of the padded mailers, then place the note and box inside, and seal it.
"Since the coins have owners waiting for them, and they were a very minor part of the case in the grand scheme of things, the court decided to expedite their release."
Blair inclined his head, continuing to watch Jim, but his thoughts turned to the person responsible for making them evidence in the first place.
Only a couple of days after the events on the mountain, Turnbow had been court-martialed for being absent without leave, and stealing and ultimately destroying a military helicopter. After that, he had been remanded into Federal custody pending his trial before a Federal District Court in Seattle. The trial had begun August fourth, and lasted exactly two weeks. Not only Jim, but Carson, Dunning, Widden, the pilot who was shot, young Elizabeth, and Blair himself had been called to testify.
In what had to be a record, the jury had deliberated for barely ninety minutes before returning a verdict. Turnbow was found guilty on one count of harassment, five counts of kidnapping, and six counts of attempted murder. Due to the sheer volume of circumstantial evidence and Mike's testimony, Turnbow was also convicted of four counts of first degree murder. Blair had lost count of how many life sentences the man had accrued.
Mike, the pilot who had helped Turnbow steal the chopper and abduct the four men and young girl, was also court-martialed. Because he testified against Turnbow, his sentence was plea bargained down to ten years, with the possibility of parole in three.
Now, two days after the trial was over, the coins that had caused his partner so much anguish had been released from evidence. Yeah, soon we can start putting this ordeal behind us. Blair snapped back to the present when he realized his partner was speaking to him.
"I'm sorry, Jim, what'd you say?"
Jim rolled his eyes. "I said, there's still time to make it to the post office before they close. Do you want to come with? We can grab something to eat afterwards."
"Sure, Jim. That sounds good."
As they left the post office later, Blair breathed a big sigh. "Well, I guess that's over, finally."
"Nope, not quite," Jim said, climbing into the truck.
"Huh?" Blair scrambled in beside him.
"We have one stop to make before we go commemorate the occasion."
"Where?"
Jim refused to answer. He just smiled slightly, and drove. It didn't take Blair long to begin to recognize what part of town they were getting into. His suspicions were confirmed a few minutes later, when Jim pulled the truck into the driveway of the Haley residence. He looked at Jim questioningly, but didn't ask as he followed the detective up to the front door.
"Detective Ellison! Mr. Sandburg! This is a surprise. There's nothing wrong I hope?" Mrs. Haley greeted them with a warm smile, and ushered them inside.
"How are you, Mrs. Haley?" Jim asked.
"I have my good days and my bad days. I take them one at a time. That's all I can do," she said, leading them into the living room. "Thank you for asking. May I get you some refreshments?"
Jim and Blair took seats on the sofa. "No, thank you. We can't stay long. I just stopped by to see how you were, and to give you this." Jim held out the small box he'd been holding.
Giving them a puzzled glance, Lily accepted the little parcel. Carefully, she pulled off the lid, and froze. She could only stare at the contents nestled on the cotton, speechless. "John's coin," she managed to breathe. When Mrs. Haley finally looked up at them, her eyes were brimming with tears.
Jim's own eyes were suspiciously bright, and Blair was sure his only added to the threatening flood.
"Thank you," Lily whispered. "You know how much this means to me, don't you?"
Jim nodded, reaching forward and gently clasping one of her hands. "I know."
Twenty minutes later, they walked down the front steps. Jim looked at Blair, and smiled. Blair couldn't help but return it. "Now, it's over," Jim said quietly.
Blair's smile turned into a grin. He patted his friend's arm as they continued on toward the truck. "Yeah, it's over."
Jim chuckled, cuffing Blair lightly on the head. "Come on, Chief. Let's go eat."
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