Disclaimer: The Sentinel and its characters are the property of Pet Fly, UPN, Paramount, and The SciFi Channel.
This story was based on a real airline incident reported in the Florida Today newspaper on April 26, 2000.
Much appreciation goes to Kathleen (K) for her beta work.
Carole
"Good afternoon, everyone. This is Captain Fontaine welcoming you aboard Coastal Airlines flight 2626 non-stop to Chicago. We'll be ready for take-off in just a few minutes."
Blair glanced around the half-empty plane as he settled into his seat. Flight attendants were conducting last minute checks, and several passengers were stowing their carry-on luggage in the baggage compartments above their heads. Sparing only a cursory look at the magazines tucked into the seat pocket in front of him, Blair pulled a well-worn textbook out of his backpack before tucking it under his seat.
"Sir? I'll need you to fasten your seat belt at this time."
Grinning sheepishly at the young woman, Blair reached to secure his seat belt, pulling it tight across his lap.
Simon held out a coffee mug in invitation as Jim entered the office, file folder in hand. "Coffee?"
Taking a deep breath, Jim's eyes narrowed in concentration as he identified the fragrant brew. "Vanilla Hazelnut? No, thanks, Simon."
"You don't know what you're missing, Jim," Simon retorted with a grin. The police captain accepted the proffered folder and quickly thumbed through the papers inside. "Looks good. I'll pass this along to the D.A.'s office."
"I don't think they'll have any trouble proving their case now."
Simon nodded his agreement. "No, I don't either. Chalk another one up to our detective/observer team. Speaking of our observer, did Sandburg get off okay?"
"Yeah, he called just before he left for the airport."
"I thought you were going to drive him over."
"I was, but he got a ride from somebody at the university. Scheduled departure time is 3:30, so his plane should be taking off in..." he glanced at his watch, "...about ten minutes."
"Jim?" Simon asked as the detective suddenly inhaled sharply.
Toppling slightly to the side before catching his balance, Jim clenched his jaw as a wave of dizziness rolled over him.
"Jim?"
Jim blinked in confusion, focusing in on Simon's concerned face. "I was a little dizzy for a second." He shook his head. "It's gone now."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah, I'm okay," Jim nodded, then grabbed for the edge of the desk as he swayed again.
Simon rushed around the side of the desk. "Jim! Good lord, man, you're as pale as a ghost."
Jim swallowed hard, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of one hand. "Simon, I..." he began before his knees buckled and he dropped into a chair.
"Talk to me." Simon kneeled in front of the detective.
"I don't know... I feel..." Disoriented, Jim struggled to get the words out, but managed only broken sentences. Tremors shook his hands and he clasped them together tightly in his lap. He shuddered, closing his eyes with an almost silent gasp.
"Captain Fontaine again, everyone. I've just been informed that there will be a slight delay before we take off. We've got a few more suitcases to load and then we'll be on our way. Estimated departure time is now 3:45."
"Somebody must be boarding late," murmured the elderly man in the window seat.
Blair nodded. "Yep. As long as it's not mechanical problems..." he added with a grin and a dramatic shiver. He glanced at his watch. "Almost 3:30."
"Jim?"
When there was no response Simon whirled to reach for the phone. "I'm gonna call 911."
"No, Simon," Jim forced out, his eyes springing open in stunned comprehension. "No! It's not me!"
"Jim, what are you talking about? What do you mean it's not you?"
"It's not me!" Jim repeated urgently. "It's Sandburg. God, it's Sandburg! I have to get to him! I have to stop him from flying on that plane!"
"Why?" Simon placed a supportive hand on Jim's shoulder as the man rose unsteadily to his feet.
Jim's answer came out in a rush of words. "I don't know. I... I don't know, Simon." He shrugged helplessly. "Maybe it's a Sentinel/Guide thing, but I know something terrible is going to happen if he doesn't get off that plane."
"Is it the plane? Is there something wrong with the plane?"
"No, it's... it's Sandburg," Jim insisted in barely controlled panic. "He's got to get off that plane."
Simon mulled over Jim's words for only a second before he made his decision. "Go! I'll see if I can get the airline to hold the plane."
"Thanks, Simon. It's Coastal Airlines, flight 2626," Jim called over his shoulder as he sprinted out of the office.
"This is Captain Fontaine again, folks. We've got another delay, but it's nothing to worry about. We should be underway shortly."
Looking up from his reading, Blair exchanged an amused look of resignation with his seat mate.
"Last time I flew this airline we waited for two hours before being given final clearance."
Blair shook his head in sympathy. "Oh, man. I hope that doesn't happen this time. I'm supposed to check in at the hotel before nine o'clock."
"Come on, come on. Get out of the way," Jim chanted over and over, maneuvering his truck around slower moving traffic, siren blaring.
Heaving a sigh of relief as he pulled into a space directly in front of the airport's main terminal, Jim jumped from the truck and headed toward the sliding doors at a full run. Seconds later, he was approaching the Coastal Airlines ticket counter.
"I need to board flight 2626!" Jim demanded loudly, pushing his way to the counter and ignoring the reproving looks cast in his direction.
"I'm sorry, sir," the ticket agent responded with a barely disguised frown. "The doors have already been closed. If you like to purchase a ticket for another flight..."
"Detective Ellison, Cascade police," Jim interrupted, sweeping his jacket aside to reveal his badge. "This is an emergency."
The young woman blinked. "Oh, yes, sir. We're holding the plane for you. You'll find that flight at Gate 12." She picked up the phone. "I'll let the pilot know you're on your way."
His tension mounting by the second, Jim bolted for Gate 12, silently praying he'd make it in time.
"Jim?" Blair unbuckled his seat belt and leaned out into the aisle at the sight of his partner striding rapidly through the plane.
Coming to a halt next to Blair's seat, Jim extended his hand down toward the younger man. "Chief, I want you to get off this plane."
"What?" Blair's eyes flickered to the flight attendant watching curiously and then back to Jim again. "I don't understand, Jim. You know I've got to get to Chicago for that..."
"No!" Jim broke in frantically, leaning over his partner and tightly grasping Blair's shoulders with both hands. "Not on this flight."
"But why, Jim?" His brow creased, Blair searched the other man's face for an explanation. "Why?"
"I don't... I don't know why, but I know you have to get off this plane." Jim shook his head in frustration. "You'll just have to trust me. Please!" he pleaded with desperate intensity.
Blair nodded slowly. "I do trust you." He took a deep breath. "Let's go. I can catch another flight in the morning."
Jim took Blair by the arm, pulling him rapidly out of his seat as the anthropologist reached to pick up his backpack and sling it across his shoulder. They had only taken a few steps down the aisle before a faint sound was heard.
Reacting immediately, Jim pushed Blair behind him and drew his gun.
"Jim?"
"Someone fired a gun," Jim responded tersely, his eyes tracking back and forth over the passengers, scanning for danger.
"Ladies and gentlemen. This is Captain Fontaine. We have an emergency situation and need everyone to disembark the plane at this time. Please remain calm and proceed in an orderly fashion to the nearest exit. Flight attendants are available to assist you."
"Come on, Chief."
Hustled forward by Jim's tight grip on the front of his jacket, Blair followed his partner out of the plane.
"Sandwiches and soup okay?"
"Sure, sounds good." Leaning back against the cushions on the couch, Blair lifted his sock clad feet to rest them on the edge of the coffee table before reaching for the remote. "I'm gonna turn on the news. You dragged me out of the airport so fast we never did find out what happened."
Jim looked up from his dinner preparations to meet Blair's gaze. "Yeah, I know," he admitted softly. "About that, Chief..."
Blair's eyes softened at Jim's apologetic tone. "Hey, like you told me in the truck, you thought I was in danger and wanted to make sure I was safe. Of course, you might have gone a little overboard with the dragging bit, but..." he shrugged, a smile teasing at the corners of his mouth.
"But somebody did fire a gun," Jim responded in his own defense.
Blair nodded, a bright smile crossing his face. "Yeah, so you were right. Actually, this premonition thing is pretty cool!"
With an answering smile, Jim gestured toward the remote in Blair's hand. "Try channel 2, or maybe 13."
"Huh?"
"The tv, Darwin."
"Oh, right." Turning on the television, Blair flipped through the channels and paused when he came to a local news broadcast. "Jim, look!" He nodded toward the set, eyes wide as he stared at the screen. "That's my flight they're talking about."
In four quick steps Jim was at the couch. He perched on the armrest, his hand lightly resting on Blair's shoulder, as the two men listened to the news report.
"A gun went off in the cargo hold of a Coastal Airlines jet awaiting take-off, firing a bullet up through the cabin floor, where it lodged in a suitcase. No one was injured."
The camera shifted from the tarmac to an inside view of the passenger section of the plane.
"The .357-caliber pistol was in a suitcase and discharged when a baggage handler threw the bag into the cargo hold of the plane which was about to leave for Chicago. The bullet tore through seat 24C, fortunately unoccupied at the time of the incident."
Jim let out a long breath as the news reporter concluded his story, squeezing the shoulder beneath his hand.
Leaning forward, Blair rifled through the papers on the coffee table until he found his ticket envelope. "Thanks, Jim," he whispered softly, shaking his head in wonder as he held up his boarding pass to gaze at the words. Coastal Airlines. Flight 2626. Seat 24C.
~end~
November 2000