This is a Sentinel/Seven Days Crossover.
Ronnee & Kate beta'd this and I want to thank them.
PG13 for much angst and little cussing.
Neither Jim, Blair or even Frank belong to me. I make no money, these stories are written for fun.
As usual I'm not getting paid or anything. Jim, Blair, and Frank belong to other people. Not what you think, (Seven Days... DUH!) Not Beta'd.
Crowswork
Sunday the 16th
He looked down at the large figure sprawled across his lap, holding him prisoner. Dead weight. Now he knew what that meant. Not that he could move anyway. The plague was upon him, now. At last. He fought the urge to scream as the worst nightmare of all threatened to steal his sanity.
Alone.
He was going to die alone. He'd always imagined he would go first. It made no sense, he was the youngest of his 'family', the group of friends and co-workers that had adopted him. It was just that he was the trouble magnet. When bullets were flying, if one found its target, that target was him. When psychos were looking to 'bond' with someone, they bonded with him.
Simon always said that if a chunk of frozen poo fell off an airliner over Cascade, it would hit him.
Simon.
At least they'd had a chance to call him and say good-bye. They hadn't been able to say much more than 'thank you' and 'we love you'. Well, Jim hadn't said it, he'd just agreed when Blair said it.
Blair lifted a shaking hand and stroked the short, sleek hair of his sentinel. How often had Jim's big hands petted him, swatted his head, and ruffled his hair. The scientist in Blair, knowing that a person's unique scent was found in their hair, had recognized long ago that it was the Sentinel's way of unconsciously imprinting on his guide's essence.
You've been a great friend... Jim... talking, looking earnest... his friends laughing... Jimmy... Blairskin rug... Sweetie... Com'on Chief. Past events, some shattering, some trivial danced through his fevered mind as he waited. Now, all he could do was wait for the end and pray it came soon.
Monday the 10th
Outside the entrance to Cascade PD
"Jim, wait up!" Detective Blair Sandburg half ran to keep up with the senior detective. He didn't feel that this was undignified. It wasn't as if he could help being the shortest person in their squad, and he knew he was doomed to take two steps for everyone else's one. He drew up as the Sentinel paused, "Jim, I mean it... I'm really, really sorry."
"Fill me in Chief? What exactly have you done?" Jim waited patiently, obviously in the dark as to what Blair was sorry for.
"Made your life hell, that's what I've done." Blair looked so pained that Jim frowned.
"Chief, you have always helped..."
"Oh, sure I helped with your senses, but I didn't commit to really helping you. I just went along and stumbled into one dangerous situation after another and you had to worry about me instead of doing your job, and risk your life because of my insistence on staying just an observer and I mean it's a wonder you didn't shoot me yourself because..."
"Whoa, Chief. Breathe or you're going to pass out." Sandburg was deadly serious. "Is this because of what happened today?"
"Of course it is!" Blair couldn't stop it. The events of the day played out in his mind for the hundredth time. It was supposed to be a boring stakeout, sitting in an empty apartment across from the Crispman residence, on the off chance that their son Harold might drop by. Harold was wanted in several states on arson and bombing charges. He was a middleman, providing materials and hardware to anyone with the cash.
Daryl Banks had made up his mind to go to the Academy when he graduated and Simon wanted him to be very sure of his decision. He sent him on this tedious stakeout as a ridealong, wanting him to see that 80% of cop work was boring, sedentary, and definitely not action packed.
Jim had cruised past the Crispman's building, listening to the sounds from the second floor corner apartment. "Damn, he and Turkel are in there. The feds said they were both probably in Idaho by now." His voice was angry as he met his partner's gaze.
Blair finished calling for back-up. "Let's just sit tight and wait for them." He looked meaningfully at Daryl, then at Jim. Jim nodded and pulled into a parking space down the block where he could monitor the wanted men. For the moment Crispman wasn't going anywhere.
The Sentinel stepped out of the truck and stood listening, trying to see into the open window, foiled by the angle and the dingy curtains flapping in and out of it. Suddenly, he turned and leaned into the window. "Come on Chief, he and his friend are saying goodbye. Daryl, you stay in this truck. Do you hear me?"
"Yes, Sir!" Daryl's answer needed only a salute to match his obedient tone.
Blair jumped out of the high vehicle and started toward the building, before he turned back. He had been in dangerous situations before with the young man, but never as a cop. It was a very different feeling. If something happened to Daryl it would be his fault, and not just in the usual Sandburg guilt-trip sort of way. It would really be his fault, he would have failed in his job, his duty. "Daryl, if you get out of this truck, so help me God, I'll kick the crap out of you." Perhaps an empty threat since Daryl had grown over a foot in the last two years, and now belonged to the 'people who are much taller than Blair' club.
"I promise."
Blair ran after Jim and following his signal entered the alley behind the building, while his partner covered the front entrance. The alley was filled with garbage and other things Blair tried not to identify. Just as well it's me, he thought, Jim would have to filter all these odors, and it would distract him. He stationed himself in a cellar doorway across from the tenement, where he could see both the cellar exit and the fire escape. The alley dead-ended on an abandoned building; garage doors covered with weathered, graffiti marked, sheets of plywood. Satisfied that he had the only exits covered he leaned back into the shallow doorway.
They must have decided to use the front door, Blair grinned after a few minutes. He bent forward and glanced toward the street, looking for back-up so he could go check on Jim. What he saw made him bite off several very nasty words. Daryl had started the truck and was inching up the street, trying to see into the alley.
At that moment an engine roared to life behind the plywood, smashing through the old boards and into the dumpsters that lined the narrow passage. Blair fell back into the cellar well an instant before a rusted Dumpster would have turned him into a pancake. An old mustang forced its way through the debris in front of him, its powerful motor deafening in the close confines.
Blair pushed his way past the trash and wood to watch as the car slowly made it's way toward the street. "You should have checked your secret escape route guys." He knew that Jim would be here any second, followed by half of the Cascade PD. He drew his automatic and aimed it at the rear right tire. "Hey guys, have something to slow you down in the meantime." Blair flattened one expensive looking tire, then the other, his small automatic barely jumping in his hand.
The other detectives teased him about using the light weight weapon, the lowest caliber allowed by department regulations. They teased him until they saw him shoot, scoring higher than any man on the force, except Ellison. He might have to carry a gun but he was going to try to avoid killing anyone if he could.
The two men were grinding their wheels, still trying to reach the street when the big blue and white pick-up truck blocked the entrance. Blair could see Daryl's grin as he sat behind the wheel. "Oh no!" Blair groaned, running toward the Mustang as its doors opened.
Crispman ran toward the street shouting to his partner, "We'll take the truck."
"Oh no, oh no, oh no..."
Blair reached the Mustang, barely noticing that it still was running. Daryl wasn't grinning anymore as he realized that he had not only provided a get away vehicle, but a potential hostage as well. The men began to squeeze past the pick-up now jammed tight into the alley entrance. Forcing himself to breathe slowly, Blair aimed at Crispman, dead center, the only sure way to stop him in time. His finger had already begun to tighten when a brawny arm reached out, dragged his target toward the street and slammed the man's head onto the hood of the truck. Before the fugitive could slide unconscious to the concrete, Jim had his gun in Turkel's face, ordering him face down in the garbage.
Two squad cars skidded to a halt and several uniformed officers joined them. Blair stood motionless in the center of the chaos, his gun pointed up, his hands shaking.
"You hurt, Sandburg?" Jim had let the others handle the arrests, anxious to check on his friend. He had arrived too late to stop Daryl's dumb stunt, so he waited and let the perps come to him. He could hear Blair's heartbeat and his muttered 'Oh no'. The young detective had done everything right and was now watching it all go to hell.
He hadn't waited for Crispman but reached around and dragged him toward the truck, bouncing his head off the heavy steel fender. He didn't want to risk Sandburg having to take a shot. His friend would do it. To protect Daryl or his partner, Blair would shoot. And then he would tear himself apart over it.
Now, as he studied his friend, he repeated. "Are you hurt?"
"Jim..." Blair's voice was unnaturally calm. "If I murder the Captain's son, will you come visit me on death row?"
Jim was as pissed at Daryl as anyone, but Sandburg was actually shaking with anger.
His partner had always been close to Simon's son, often conspiring to get one over on Jim or his Dad while on fishing trips. The boy idolized Blair and Jim knew he had to calm him down before he said something to destroy that relationship. "Now, Chief." He tried to use the Guide tone Blair used to calm people, his Sentinel in particular. "He was just trying to help." Jim brushed off Blair's jacket, then gave up. The second hand gray tweed sportcoat was a goner. "You remember what it was like, jumping into situations, trying to rescue me. He was just doing what you used to do." He felt a change in the shoulders under his hands.
When he looked into the younger man's face, he stepped back. His friend looked horrified, as if Jim had just struck him. Slowly his eyes filled with unshed tears and pity. Jim wondered if he was going into shock, perhaps he was hurt after all. "Chief, let's go let the paramedics check you out, okay?"
"Oh Jim, I am so sorry, man." Compassion filled the expressive eyes before he looked down. "How can you stand me after what I put you through."
Oh yeah, definitely time for the paramedics, Jim thought as he steered Blair toward the street. "Come on, buddy."
That was the first time that day that Blair abjectly apologized. It would be much later as they left the station that Jim would discover just what he was sorry for.
"I really am sorry." Blair hadn't moved since his outburst in front of the station.
He has to pick today to have an epiphany, Jim thought, as he looked down at his partner and wondered how he was going to get through to him. "Look Blair, you were usually real helpful. You saved my ass more than once. You were loyal and brave." Sounds like I'm comparing him to a Boy Scout. Jim paused, uncomfortable with this sharing your emotions crap. "I didn't deserve your friendship half the time but you always came through for me."
"When I think of how I resented you sometimes." Jim's heartfelt outburst was ignored by Blair. "Stay in the truck, Blair. Call for back-up, Blair" He mimicked Jim's voice very well.
"I don't sound like that."
"...And how I called you a big, paranoid, macho, control freak."
"You never called me that!" Jim was more amused than angry.
"Not out loud." Blair shook his head sadly. "And Simon, poor Simon, I must have driven him insane with worry. I mean he risked his job and everything and he probably felt responsible every time I got hurt or in trouble. I have to go apologize to Simon."
"Right now, Simon and his son are having a very serious talk." Jim grabbed his guide's arm before he could return to the building. "Besides, if you apologize to him, like you just did to me, you'll end up walking a beat on the waterfront." And I'll have to be there, walking it with you, he finished silently.
"Maybe I'll tell him tomorrow."
"Good idea," Jim sighed, shaking his head. "Let's go home, Chief, I'll forgive you some more on the way"
Tuesday, the 11th
Lacachee Island --Hotel laundry Room
The skeleton staff was rushing to get the rooms ready on very short notice; they pulled sheets, blankets and quilts, rewashing the musty, cedar-scented linens. Jo Drake, was folding the last of the sheets, still warm from the dryer. The beds had already been made for tonight, and the rooms were stocked with fresh towels and robes. Jarman, the manager had ordered extra blankets and pillows for each room. Even the pillows were sent to be fluffed in the huge dryers.
"Time to try out this new stuff," Jo laughed. She wrestled with the sealed box, finally using scissors to open it. "They must think this is a video tape." It was in fact a commercial sized box of Pillowpuff. A new product designed to clean and refresh pillows. It also killed dust mites.
After tearing open the box, she found another tightly sealed bag inside. Reading the instructions she put three sheets of Pillowpuff and three pillows in each enormous dryer. Twenty minutes on low for each load. Time enough to run upstairs and set the tables. She took the cart of tablecloths with her.
Tuesday the 11th
Simon Bank's office
By the next morning, Blair had calmed down enough to tell Simon that he now understood the great risk he and Jim had taken when they allowed him to ride with Jim. Of course he used a great many large words and psychological terms until Simon's eyes started to glaze over.
"He means he understands now why we yelled at him for doing dangerous things."
"Oh." Simon looked over at the penitent Detective. "It's no fun being the grown-up, is it?"
Before he could speak Jim patted his head. "If you say you're sorry again we're going to get out the duct tape."
Simon leaned back and laughed his deep rumbling laugh, then put on his captain face. "I was asked to loan you two out for a week."
"Who asked?" Jim became serious as he glanced at his friend and guide. "And why us?"
"The request came through the Mayor's office, from Washington by way of the Governor."
"Oh, wow." Blair felt a wave of unease pass through him. Since the debacle involving the publication his thesis, he had learned to fear being singled out for any special attention.
"I've been afraid of this." Jim said grimly. "Some agency didn't buy it when Sandburg here fell on his sword at that press conference."
"Jim, I think you're wrong." Simon took off his glasses and sighed. "If some covert group wanted you, they wouldn't be so public about it. They'd just drop a bag over your head and take you."
Thank you for that word picture, Simon, Blair thought as he looked at Jim and saw him relax a little. "What exactly do they want us for?"
"There is a resort on Lacachee Island. It is a very remote and private place, even during the tourist season. The place is closed during the winter with only a small staff of permanent employees staying on the island."
"I've read about that place." Blair ignored the knowing look the other men shared. "There are no motor vehicles on the whole island. It's like stepping back into another time, I'll bet." His voice became excited as he began to gesture. "It's like that place in Michigan, you know where they made that movie."
"The Shining?" Jim's tone was a little sarcastic.
"No, the 'time' one with Christopher Reeve," Blair frowned as he tried to remember the name.
"Chick flick," Simon intoned gravely. "Joan and I saw it when it came out. Nice music."
"But this is a different hotel so why are we even talking about it?" Jim was impatient to find out what was going on.
"Oh right," Blair looked at his partner and whispered, "remember what your dentist said about grinding your teeth?"
Simon waited until they were through before he continued. "A group of scientists from around the world are meeting on Lacachee Island, for a conference that is starting tomorrow."
"Tomorrow!" Jim did not look pleased. "Why such short notice?"
"This is a conference on terrorism, Biological Terrorism."
"Top secret, spy stuff." Blair was grinning. "This is so cool."
"You two do have some history with this sort of thing." Simon frowned and leaned back.
"Brackett, Alex, nerve gas, Ebola. Yeah, you could say we have history." Jim matched his Captain's frown with a stony expression. "What do they want us to do?"
"Apparently you were requested by some of the scientists as extra security." The look Simon gave Jim let him know he didn't like this part at all. "There will be a small security contingent from the NSA, actually on the Island. It will be ringed by Navy and Coast Guard ships, under a net of radar.
"And they need us?" Blair joined in the others skepticism.
"They also want to talk to you about your experiences with bio-terrorism." Simon shrugged. "I know, this seems fishy to me, too."
"You mean it stinks," Jim's cold blue eyes narrowed as he looked at his boss and friend, "but it would make us seem more suspicious if we refused the offer... or disobeyed the orders."
"Ah, Simon, if they tell you we died, or disappeared, or ran away from home, don't believe them, ok?" Blair was suddenly less than enamoured of the idea. "Maybe I've been watching too many X Files or la femme Nikita episodes lately, but this is starting to creep me out."
"Come on, Chief, you love that spy stuff."
"Movies... books, not real life. Real life spies are mean, gray, little men, who hook car batteries to parts of you that are better left unshocked."
"Too many people in high places know where we're going, Blair." Jim tried to look reassuring as he resigned himself to going on this trip. "At the worst, we'll get a job offer."
"And what if they really, REALLY want us to take the job?"
"Don't worry, Blair. They don't have cars on the island. No cars, no car batteries."
"I am so not reassured."
Wednesday, the 12th
Over the Pacific Ocean
At seven the next morning they were in a high tech, eight passenger helicopter, skimming the iron gray waves of the northern Pacific. Jim's sentinel vision picked up at least two cutter class ships below them before he looked away from the deep water.
He tried to do his breathing exercises, while keeping an eye on Blair. The young detective was hiding his anxiety about helicopters with a constant stream of excited babbling. Right now he was carrying on a conversation with the couple across the aisle.
The average-looking man in the window seat had spook written all over him. The woman next to him was stunning, not traditionally pretty, but beautiful in an exotic way. Her accent marked her as Russian, her speech as highly intelligent and charming. If Jim knew his partner, he was ready to defect by now.
Wednesday, the 12th
Neverland, in the Nevada desert.
Frank Parker slouched into his chair in the conference room. He would have pouted if he hadn't been too macho. He settled for sulking and muttering to himself. Olga gets to go off to spend a week on an elegant island resort and they send that toad Nate Ramsey with her. Instead of me, he groused silently.
"Frank?" He realized he hadn't been listening to the senior staff. "What do you think of Detective Ellison's file?"
Frank Parker wondered why they cared. He had been pulled out of the Hansen's Island mental hospital because of a set of unique talents and abilities, and remained free only because he was the man who could successfully pilot the time sphere. The only man they had found... so far.
"I read everything in his file. He was a hell of a soldier." Frank also wasn't happy about his possible, almost girlfriend Olga spending a week recruiting this admittedly OK looking guy. "That stuff his partner wrote in the thesis... sounds like sci-fi channel stuff to me."
Frank's best friend Craig laughed. "This from a man who travels through time."
"So, if all this sentinel stuff is real, and he takes our offer, what do we want with him?" Frank was afraid he already knew.
"We were thinking of trying him as a back up crononaut." Bradley Talmadge said softly.
Frank bridled at the suggestion. "You got to be kidding. This guy's got to be, what, fifty?"
"Now, Frank," Bradley chuckled. "I know that to someone barely out of their twenties, almost forty seems ancient, but I think James Ellison's other assets outweigh his vast age."
Frank studied the photos of the man that were spread over table. This guy definitely had the potential to cause him problems. He was a big, GI Joe looking, tower of muscle, who apparently had the reflexes and tolerance to pain to fly a back step. "But does he have a photographic memory?"
"Understand... Frank... we aren't looking for a replacement for you." Bradley smiled kindly at the world's only crononaut. "Ellison would only be your back-up."
"I guess I should be flattered. You want superman to be my understudy." Frank would never admit it, but his greatest fear was that someday they wouldn't need him anymore. They would come to him and say, sorry but it's back to Hanson's Island for you, oh, and by the way, thanks for saving the world. A couple of times.
The people in this God awful place had become a family to him. How pathetic was that? How would he feel if they turned their backs on him? He had a feeling that he would finally belong in that mental hospital, because he would go insane.
Wednesday, the 12th
Lacachee Island resort
"Jeez, Jim, would you look at this place?" Blair looked around at the gorgeous old hotel. "It's like we traveled back through time."
"It's nice, Chief." Jim was taken by the elegant black and white marble floor in the entry. The furniture in front of the fireplace was heavy and overstuffed. Two huge sofas and a half dozen chairs, covered with soft leather. Antique tables and ottomans were covered with magazines and books, all neatly arranged.
Neat until Sandburg saw them that is. His myopic partner, who could at fifty feet, without his glasses, could spot an interesting... well, interesting to him anyway... book. Swooping down on a partially hidden tome, he crowed. "Look, Jim. It's a history of Lacachee Island."
"Very cool , Chief."
"Do you think they'd mind if I take it to read?"
"Help yourself, Mr. Sandburg." A cultured voice from behind them made him jump. Jim turned to the well dressed man and studied him intently. "Mr. Ellison, may I introduce myself? I am Clive Jarman, majordomo of this hotel."
"Thanks." Blair said absently, already immersed in the book.
When Jarman gestured for them to follow, Jim steered his partner up the broad stair case. They were led to two large adjoining rooms on the second floor. The rooms were large, if rather fussily decorated, with an overabundance of printed chintz and vibrant comforters. Jim dialed down his eyesight a notch, and looked around. "Nice room."
Blair's voice came from the next room. "Hey, Jim. Come and see this great room. Jim dropped his bags and entered the next room to see Sandburg vault onto the high antique bed. "Is this ever cool?"
The room was a little smaller, but paneled instead of papered. The walls were hung with hunting prints and a glass front case filled with old pistols. "Err, Chief. You wouldn't want to switch rooms, would you?"
"Sure Jim," Blair had noted the multiple patterns that ran riot in the other room. "Wouldn't want you to over-dose on the Laura Ashley Look." Blair sat on the high bed, his feet dangling a foot above the floor. "Jim, did you see the lady I was talking to on the chopper?" When Jim nodded he continued, "we're having dinner with her tonight."
"You made a date before we even landed?" Jim asked absently as he fought the irrational urge to grab his friend and make him stand away from the bed. Both rooms triggered a vague, nervous feeling in the Sentinel.
"It's not like that, Jim." It was true, Blair had liked the beautiful woman immediately, but there was no 'chemistry' between them. In truth, he had asked her to dinner for Jim. There was something about her that made him think that she might belong with Jim. Maybe, it was the fact that she looked like a sexy kitty cat. Blair couldn't say that, so he grinned at his partner and told the truth. "I thought you two might hit it off."
"Chief, we are here to work. Not play Sinful Island." Jim had seen the ads for the new 'reality show' and thought the whole thing was a domestic disturbance waiting to happen.
"Come on, partner. The main group of scientists and feds won't arrive until tomorrow afternoon," Blair knew that the nine people they had arrived with were the only non-employees on the island.
"Get off my bed," Jim accepted the futility of fighting with Sandburg and went to fetch his bag.
There was something about the rooms... the bedding that bothered him. He couldn't put his finger on it. Just a general unease, a reluctance to touch it, much less lie on it. He had stayed in hotels and suffered through the scratchy, bleach scented bedding. This wasn't like that. There was an odd smell, vaguely chemical, medicinal.
He pulled back the comforter and studied the white cased pillow. He let his vision follow the almost nonexistent odor, into the weave of the fine percale. The individual fibers that made up each thread swirled together, and there seemed to be something just beyond his ability to see hiding among them. Reassured by his guide's presence in the next room, he turned the vision dial higher than he ever had and lost himself in the mountains and canyons of thread.
"Jim! JIM! Come back to me here. You're scaring me, big guy," the voice echoed from a great distance. His guide was frightened. He could hear it in his voice. It took all his strength to fight his way free, trying to follow Sandburg's voice, to find him and help him. He emerged from the dark tunnel and then he was here, in the colorful room, being shaken by his partner.
"What's wrong with you?" Jim stared into the wide, dark blue eyes. Blair looked terrified.
"What's wrong with ME?" Blair stumbled back and grabbed the bedpost for support. "I came in and found you zoned out. Standing there like a feakin' statue. If you were breathing I couldn't see it. I've been trying to bring you back for ten minutes." Blair took a quick gasping breath and continued. "It was really bad. What the hell were you looking at? Why didn't you call me? I was afraid I wasn't going to get through to you this time."
"The pillow case."
"WHAT!" Blair looked from the deathly pale Ellison, to the plain white fabric.
"I was looking at the pillow case."
Blair talked Jim into taking a long walk under the pretext of a security check of the grounds. Personally, he wasn't thrilled with spending over three hours stomping around the island. It was much colder here than Cascade, and muddy beside. While it must be beautiful in the summer, this was obvious why the resort closed for the winter. Never the less, it seemed to help his partner recover from the weird zone out in his room.
When they returned they had time to give the whole building a 'sentinel' once over, checking for anyone or anything that didn't belong.
Jim found nothing that could explain his unease, the cold lump that had taken up residence under his ribs. "Maybe we should check the cliffs on the north end of the island again."
"It's getting dark, Jim. Do you really want to have to rescue me when I fall off a cliff in the dark?" Blair didn't have to add that he would insist on going, even if it did mean falling. "It's almost time for dinner. We missed lunch, too."
"Let's get ready, then." Jim sighed. When his muddy, waterlogged partner used the 'puppy eyes' his resolve melted. "We'll get up extra early tomorrow and do it then." Jim jogged up the stairs, smiling at the barely audible mutters and insults that followed him.
An hour later, after a very long and very hot shower, Blair felt almost human again as he strolled into the dinning room. There was a fire in the wide stone hearth and only two tables were set before it. Soft music filled the air and candle light made the illusion of being in another time return. Olga and Nate Ramsey were already seated at one end and he joined them. Something about the elegance of this place had made him dress with much more care than usual. His new black suit over a white turtleneck, with his bright blue embroidered silk vest. Olga was wearing a red dinner dress that despite having a high neckline and long sleeves made him grin with appreciation. "You look very lovely tonight, Olga."
Olga returned the smile as he took his seat. Blair Sandburg was not what she expected. His files had led her to expect an owlish, academic... nerd as the Americans called them. While he did have those qualities, he was also charming, and at the moment quite, suave, and handsome. Those photos did not do him justice. Yet even as she admired him, she was struck by the lack of physical attraction she felt. Maybe it was because he seemed so young, much more than five years her junior. If I want Peter Pan, she thought to herself, I can always take Frank Parker up on his advances.
She hated to admit that she missed her 'Mister' Parker, a man who seemed to delight in behaving badly. He could be so kind, so brave, and so incredibly lovable, that it made her ache to hold him. Then, of course he would do something so asinine that she wanted to kick him instead. Perhaps Mister Sandburg and his stern partner would distract her from her increasingly strong attraction for the madcap Parker.
As if in answer to her thoughts James Ellison entered and joined them. He wore a suede jacket over navy slacks and pale blue button down shirt, that on him seemed perfectly elegant. Old money. Someone had once tried to explain that phrase to her. That some people born to 'old money' could dress and live any way and still seem to have style. She knew from his files that Mr. Ellison, despite his simple lifestyle, came from generations of wealth. Never the less, it was the man himself who fascinated her. When he sat next to her, she was startled by the feelings his presence aroused.
When Blair introduced them and he took her hand, she had to force herself to let it go. This was so strange, she thought as she looked into his ice blue eyes. What she felt was not exactly desire, but a longing to stay close to him. Olga, she chided herself, you are here to evaluate this man for a job. Climbing into his lap would probably be inappropriate.
Jim blinked and looked again at the large sea blue eyes, in the exoticly beautiful face. Pheromones, that's what Blair called it. This instant rush of feelings. This time, it wasn't an instant sexual attraction like Lila and Laura. He tried to pin down the feeling, the overwhelming need to get close, to protect, and love, and... Jim dropped Olga's hand and backed away quickly, his chair scraping on the tile floor.
He had only felt this once before. In a hospital examining room, just a trace had been enough to lead him on an unlikely quest. In the jumbled office it had been so strong that it terrified him. The compulsion to get close to the young man, to safeguard him, to touch him had appalled James Ellison. It had made him panic and go on the offensive, slamming the startled anthropologist against the wall.
Jim had long ago apologized for his behavior, but never explained the cause of it. He was ashamed to admit to the prejudices and fears that the feelings caused. Now, he knew that it was because Sandburg was a guide. Sentinels and Guides were drawn together by instinct. Jim was sure that Blair's presence in Cascade was part of the reason his senses chose that moment to come on line. He refused to believe that Alex turning up in Cascade was some sort of coincidence.
"Jim. JIM!" Blair raised his voice and tapped his friend's arm. "This is Nate Ramsey." He watched as Jim shook hands and tried to gather his wits about him, wondering what the hell was going on.
"I remember reading about that little adventure of yours in Peru." Nate drawled, his voice annoyingly nasal and self-important.
Jim seemed to be ignoring him, so Blair answered quietly. "I don't think being left for dead in the jungle for a year and a half, qualifies as a little adventure."
Nate seemed taken aback by the vehemence in the low voice. "Well, sure. Just meant to offer my compliments on a job well done."
"Oh, look, here come the others." The tense atmosphere at the table unnerved Olga. She introduced the two older men as Drs. West and Claiborne, two of the top epidemiologists in the world. They were with Dr. Sara Marshall, assistant to Dr. Joseph Edwards of Rainier University.
As they were seated at the table the conversation became more general. Dr. West was a compact silver haired man who looked more like a cowboy than a scientist, while the tall slender Claiborne seemed to fit the stereotype perfectly. He was balding with heavy glasses and a cultured British accent that carried far beyond the two tables.
"Quite pleasant to have an evening to ourselves before the horde descends on us."
"I thought Edwards would be here," West seemed annoyed as he grilled Sara Marshall. "Having this conference out here, on this God forsaken island, was his idea."
"Dr. Edwards will be here before the end of the week." At thirty-one, Sara was one of Rainier's shining lights. With Edwards as her mentor, the brilliant young woman had gained national recognition in record time. "His wife became ill suddenly and he wants to stay close until she recovers."
Olga had been following the conversation as had the others at the table. She had been at the meeting where the conference had been planed and had worked closely with Dr. Edwards. "I hope he can make it. I was hoping to hear his report on the mutations of the Nile virus."
"I can handle it if he doesn't show up." Dr. Marshall seemed piqued that she might be considered second choice. "The equipment is already set up in the conference room. You'll all enjoy seeing the latest innovations." There was a burst of conversation as the doctors joined in the discussion of the various breakthroughs in scientific equipment.
Jim and Blair exchanged glances. Jim looked underwhelmed while Blair was out of his element if not his league. The meal was delicious and Jim was happy to eat in silence, watching as Olga managed to be charming even as she was using words he didn't begin to understand. Blair attempted to flirt with Sara Marshall, who occasionally paused in her incomprehensible discourse to bat her eyelashes at the young detective.
"Isn't that right, Detective Ellison?" Olga's question caught him off guard.
"Jim, please." He wished he knew what she had asked.
Olga caught on and filled him in. "I was saying that you have had experience with the Ebola Virus."
"Not personally." Jim still shuddered as he remembered how close it had come to being released. "I just recovered a sample that was stolen."
"What a nightmare that was for our department," Sara sighed dramatically. "Then that unpleasantness with the VX nerve gas. It made our lives hell."
"Yes, that was unpleasant," The irony in Blair's tone was wasted on the single-minded young woman. The stolen nerve gas was only part of the nightmare that ended with Blair's drowning. How lonely that dawn had been, as cold and gray as the stones of Hargrove Hall. He felt the barest touch and looked up to see Jim's fingers brush his sleeve. "Calm down, Big Guy," Blair whispered soft reassurance to the Sentinel, when he saw his sorrowful expression.
Then he pasted a bright smile on his face and turned to the scientists again. "Did I hear you say something about a new super microscope? I don't suppose we could get a preview?"
"Well, we will be going public after this conference," West puffed up and turned to his colleague. "It's already set up in the next room."
As everyone had finished eating they moved as a group to the conference room. Jim leaned close to his friend and spoke confidentially, "I don't care how cool it is, keep your fingers to yourself."
Blair looked puzzled then laughed. "Jeez, you steal one microscope and you're marked for life."
The device was as small as a suitcase, yet capable of analyzing almost any pathogen using an onboard computer. It could also transmit to a main axis, where new and dangerous diseases could be safely identified by a super computer.
West was proudly explaining that the 'Burning Glass 2600' was going to revolutionize the study of epidemics. It could be carried into the 'hot zones' and used to identify viruses without transporting the dangerous substances.
Setting up a separate screen he focused the lens over a clean table napkin. At first all that showed on screen was a sea of rope-like fibers, growing larger and larger. To Jim it was an eerie replay of the incident with the pillow case. Finally it narrowed on one thread and the things living on it. Jim recoiled as the various, rather monstrous looking creatures came into view.
"NO!" Dr. West stepped back and bumped into Olga. "That can't be right!" He returned to his keyboard as Claiborne and Sara Marshall crowded closer.
Words began to scroll down one side of the screen. Jim had caught Olga as she stumbled and now felt her stiffen.
"Oh, my God," West backed away from his invention. "It's like..."
"It's Anthrax." Claiborne spoke in a numb monotone. "And Dengue... and Ebola... It's overkill."
"This has to be deliberate," Nate Ramsey seemed to be talking to himself. "I'll call Neverland... tell them to stop anyone else coming here. Tell them to send Frank..." The words trailed off as he walked away.
Blair was reeling as he stood at the back of the group. What was going on here? Those names meant death. He saw Jim with his arm around Olga and went to them. His friend's other arm reached out and pulled him close, too. He could see the terror in the beautiful woman's eyes as they both took comfort in Jim's reassuring presence.
"What does it mean?" He asked the crowd at large, afraid he knew the answer.
"I'm afraid it means we won't be leaving this island," West choked on the words.
Claiborne looked sadly at the people around him. "What he means is, that we are already past saving. Everyone on this island is already dead."
Friday, the 14th
"SO... WE DO A BACKSTEP!" Frank Parker pushed on the conference table and stood, his body pumping adrenaline at the need to act, to save Olga.
Bradley sighed and looked at the young computer genius, Andrew Owlsey. 'Hooter', plowed his hands through his hair and shook his head sadly. "The solar activity we're seeing makes the chance of a successful backstep practically nil."
It had been two days and Frank was ready to lose it. Lacachee Island had been virtually saturated with sophisticated biological agents. Any one of these strains would practically insure the death of all the people on that remote point of rock. The mutated Anthrax had a 90% kill ratio within a days. It was an engineered strain developed for biological warfare, confiscated from a terrorist group by the U.S. Army.
Frank wanted to go back now. To stop Olga before she left Neverland. He didn't want to watch her die... again. He had before and it ate at him. He had grieved for her before, only to set things right and erase the past that killed her. Only he remembered the pain. Only he remembered the anguish of dying friends, of seeing his son in a coffin, of Olga burning to death in a sea of oil.
Frank shook himself. I'll fix it! Just like I always do. Sunspots be damned. Nothing would stop him.
While he was waiting, Frank had been spending most of the time in the computer room. When the meeting was adjourned, he returned there. They had a secure link with Olga's laptop and could at least talk to her, see that she was still alive. The tech at the console moved aside and Frank took his seat. All that was visible on the console was a section of the hotel's lobby wall.
"Olga?" he spoke into the headpiece even as he adjusted it on his head. "You there, baby?"
A harried looking young man with curly hair falling in his eyes came into view. He put on a headpiece and smiled sadly. "Sorry, Frank. Just me, Olga's sleeping."
Frank hadn't spoken to the young man and was puzzled at the use of his name. "You're Blair Sandburg aren't you?"
"Yeah. You are Frank, right? Olga talks about you a lot." The young man was looking at something beyond the computer. "Jim... stay down. You need to rest."
"How are you doing, kid?" Frank knew the man on the screen was his age, but something stirred his protective instinct. "You feeling sick or anything?"
"Not yet." Sandburg lowered his voice. "I'm the only one who isn't. I might have some immunity, to the Anthrax at least. Olga thinks it's because I had pneumonia a couple of times, and meningitis, and a couple of bad tropical bugs."
"You never met a germ that didn't like you, huh?"
"I was at the University for over a decade. College students carry more diseases than Norwegian Brown Rats." The wry observation was at odds with his tired, distressed appearance.
Frank had to chuckle, despite the fear he felt was drowning him. He liked the courage it took to joke in the face of death. He knew Sandburg had been an academic before becoming a cop. He had no training for situations like this, and Frank felt compelled to help him. "Look, Chief, I know this is rough. I can't tell you how, but I think things are gonna turn out OK."
"Chief?"
"Can't call you kid, we're the same age."
"Chief is OK. It's what Jim calls me. Thanks for trying to comfort me."
"I meant it! Don't give up hope." Frank wished he could tell him about the possibility of a backstep.
"I might be immune to the anthrax, but not to everything else that's floating around here. I know it's just a matter of time for me, too." Blair was looking beyond the camera again, apparently at his partner. "It's just as well... But, I hate to be the last. You know what I mean?"
"You aren't alone, Sandburg." Frank wondered at the regard he felt for the man on the screen. "I'll stay on the line, I promise."
"Olga's waking up. Do you want to talk her?"
"I don't want to bother her if she..."
"Frank." Blair's voice fell to a whisper. "You should talk to her now, if you know what I mean."
Frank felt his belly turn to ice at the somber words. Olga was dying. "Yeah. Blair, why don't you let me talk to her."
There was a disorienting swirl of color and motion as Sandburg carried the laptop to its owner. Soon, Olga appeared on the screen, her eyes sunken and anguished as she gasped for air. "Frank... don't be sad... you know it's going to be all right."
"You're right, Baby." Frank scrubbed at his watering eyes. "You know I'll save you."
"Tell them that the Anthrax has infected everyone... Nate... he's in a coma... the others are already dead or dying. Except Blair." Olga fell back, exhausted by the effort to report, to do her job even now.
"It doesn't matter, Baby. After I save you, you won't remember any of it." Frank hated to see the effort it took for her to speak. "You just go back to sleep and when you wake up, I'll be there."
There was a brief blur as her fingers touched the lens and screen. "Frank... I love you."
Blair had heard many of the farewell calls made by the afflicted. It hit him hard, every time. Olga seemed so sure that her Frank would save her. Trying not to eavesdrop, he held the woman upright so she could say goodbye. The call was ended when she was overcome by violent paroxysms of coughing. The laptop slipped off the bed, where it was forgotten as she fought to breathe. Stroking her hair, he held the doomed young woman as she sank into a deepening coma.
"I love you..." Frank's voice faltered and he had to force the words past the lump in his throat. "Always loved you." He could see her eyes drifting closed. "Go to sleep, baby. And when we meet again, I bet you deny this ever happened." He thought he saw the corners of her lips quirk slightly, then the laptop was pulled away and the screen went dark. There was nothing more for a long time.
Blair hated the rasping, tortured sound as the people on the mattresses struggled to breathe. Worse yet, was the silence when they lost the battle. It was bad enough when Jim was there to tell him what to do. It was Jim who dragged mattresses to the lobby, and set up a make shift hospital. He and the doctors had tried to help as the hotel staff fell ill that first night. They had been the first and hardest hit, and it hadn't taken the detective long to discover why.
Jim solved his own murder.
The Sentinel traced the source of the pestilence to the clothes dryers in the laundry. The lethal agents had been packaged in a pillow freshener. Clive Jarman told them that the Pillowpuff had arrived with the shipment from Rainier University. He'd assumed that it was a complimentary sample of a new product.
The toxins were identified and the decision was made. No rescue effort would be made. They were highly communicable, but contained on the remote island.
Olga insisted that they immediately inform her colleagues at the whimsically named Wonderland. She kept saying that 'Frank must know' and 'we must tell Frank', until Blair wondered if she had gone mad. Never the less, Jim repeated his findings to this Frank Parker, including his suspicion of Dr. Edwards.
After questioning Sara Marshall, they'd discovered she, and the very married Edwards, had been romantically involved and that she had broken it off. When the police checked, they discovered that Mrs. Edwards had been poisoned.
The FBI had already picked up the professor, and by Friday afternoon he had confessed to everything. Seeing the chance to revenge himself on his erstwhile mistress, and take out his prime competition, he had come up with the scheme to sabotage the conference he had helped to organize.
But by then most of the staff had perished. One by one, Jim and Blair carried the bodies to the conference room, and covered them with sheets. As Jim became weaker, the task fell to Blair.
By Saturday morning, only Jim and Blair were conscious. Blair tried to make Olga, West, and Ramsey comfortable as they lingered in the last stage before death. Though desperately ill, Jim stubbornly clung to consciousness, refusing to leave his friend.
"Sit, Chief." Jim's voice was barely a whisper as he sat, covered with a quilt, propped against the leather sofa. Blair sank down beside his friend and wrapped the heavy quilt tightly around them both. Jim leaned close, "listen for a minute. I have to tell you."
"Jim, you should rest."
"Not much point in worrying about my health now, Darwin." Jim's voice seemed almost normal as he gathered his strength. "I have to tell you. I kept your dissertation. I made a video tape. Proved everything you said was true. Had the department Chaplain and shrink as witnesses, Simon and Megan too. It's with my lawyer. I thought I'd retire, maybe go out in the 'line of duty', you'd be famous... you'll still be famous..." Jim gasped as he slumped forward. "Wish you could've had what you wanted, Nobel Prize n'all."
"Listen, Ellison! I have exactly what I wanted. I set an impossible goal, then I reached it. I became what I was born to be. Destiny fulfilled. I'd do it all again in a minute." Blair wanted no regrets between them at this late date.
"B'n famous sucks anyway." Jim was fighting to stay awake.
"Yeah," Blair didn't care that the tears ran hot over his cheeks. "Posthumous fame is much better. No yapping reporters."
"Statues maybe?"
"Sure, they'll put up statues for us. Sentinel and Guide." Blair fought to control his voice. "A hundred years from now, girls will still be swooning over our handsome selves."
Jim leaned closer until his face was pressed in the soft curly hair. "Don't want to leave you... alone here, Chief."
"You... you go ahead. I'll be along, soon."
"...stay." Jim whispered as he slumped closer. "you hate b'n alone."
"I'm not afraid, Jim." Blair gathered his friend into his arms and eased him onto his lap. He leaned forward, trying to surround the dying man with his presence. He wanted Jim to know that he was near.
"B'lr..." The Sentinel was barely breathing.
"See ya, Jim." Blair was shaking as Jim slipped into the comatose state that preceded death. "Love ya."
As darkness fell, the young detective realized it was getting harder to breath. "Guess I'm not immune after all, huh Jim?" He felt for his friend's pulse and sighed when he found a faint fluttering. Was the sigh relief or sadness, he wondered. "I wish this was over, already." His right hand rested on the small revolver that lay beside him. Trust Jim to have his backup close by. "Like a security blanket, right Jim?" It was nice to know that he wouldn't be alone for long. He'd just go with Jim.
Taboos from the different cultures he'd studied over the years raced through his fevered brain. Many said that suicides didn't get to go with their loved ones. God couldn't be so cruel to him. Dare he risk it? He snatched his hand away from the cold steel, and traced the familiar features of his sentinel. The laptop lay half closed beside him, left there after they'd said their own, final farewells. Jim had spoken to his dad and brother, Blair had recorded a message for Naomi, and they both had said good-bye to Simon.
He opened the futuristic little device and wasn't surprised to see Frank Parker's worried features. "Hey, Frank."
"Hey, Blair. What's goin' on, kid?"
"I'm sorta by myself, now." His voice was very quiet. "Jim's still here, but he's sleeping." He saw Frank rub his eyes as the words sank in. "I'm sorry about your friends, Frank."
"You did all you could." Parker's voice was choked with emotion. "How can I help you?"
"Talk to me, Frank. I'm feeling kinda bad here." Major understatement. Blair felt a hysterical urge to laugh, or cry, maybe both.
"Sure... uh, what do you want to know?"
"You a cop, maybe a soldier?"
"Navy Seal... before I got drafted into what I'm doing now. I had some special talents, they said." Frank waited for a reply but only saw the tear stained face looking at the camera expectantly. "Actually, I was in the nut house."
"What?" Blair gasped for air as he struggled to speak.
"What the hell... you can keep a secret right?" He didn't wait for an answer but kept talking. "I was held prisoner in a hot box in Somalia for a long time. I flipped out before they could rescue me. It was a while before I returned to my normal semi-crazy state, and by then I was in the bin."
"What were... your... symptoms?" Blair roused slightly, as the man's words fell together.
"Everything was too sharp." Blair could see the man shudder. "The guys who pulled me out of the box said I screamed when they touched me. I remember the sunlight, and then nothing, I closed down, totally catatonic."
"Ah, hell, Frank!" Blair groaned. All this time and now I stumble over another possible Sentinel. "Do you ever have sensory spikes. See things... smell things you... you shouldn't...."
"Not lately. I had a flashback a few months ago. I kind of lost it for a while but Olga talked me down. She's real special." Blair watched as the former Seal's eyes filled with tears.
Poor Frank. He had no idea just how special and important Olga was to him. All the pieces fell into place. Their reaction to the young woman had been because she was a latent guide.
"Frank... after I... well after... some stuff is going to come out about Jim and me. I want you to read my journals... my research. It might help..."
"Sure... oh, hey. Got to go away for a second." Parker disappeared from the screen.
Blair leaned back and murmured. "Hey, Jim. I found another one. How about that? He's OK... not like... well anyway, you'd like him. He's a tough guy, too."
Alone with his Sentinel, Blair listened to every labored breath, each heartbeat that was weaker than the last. Jim was struggling to hold on. "Let go, Jimmy." He whispered the words even though it was the last thing he wanted. "I'll catch you."
The big man relaxed as a sigh escaped from slightly parted lips. No next breath was drawn, and Blair knew the instant his friend's soul left his body.
He looked down at the large figure sprawled across his lap, holding him prisoner. Dead weight. Now he knew what that meant. Not that he could move anyway. The plague was upon him, now. At last. He fought the urge to scream as the worst nightmare of all threatened to steal his sanity.
Alone.
"I don't want to die alone. God... please let me go now." He whispered the prayer as he grew weaker. He could remain upright no longer and slid down to the floor, still curled protectively around his friend's body.
Frank Parker was furious. For over an hour he had raged at anyone who would listen. There was a storm blowing in from the west and the government was afraid the biological agents might be carried to the mainland. The order had come down to incinerate the island. At dawn, two high altitude bombers would drop incendiary bombs in sufficient numbers to start a firestorm. Every living organism on Lacachee Island would be reduced to ash.
"Damn it... he's still alive." Frank's voice was hoarse. "Can't it wait?"
"Frank," Craig's tone was patient as he comforted his friend. "Sandburg agreed, along with the others, that no more lives be risked. You read his file. It's the last thing he'd want..."
Frank pulled away and returned to the computer console. "Sandburg! If you can hear me you might not want to stick around there much longer. There's a storm..."
"Sandburg!" He could hear Frank Parker's voice. He sounded upset. He was saying something about a storm and planes and dawn.
Sorry, Frank.
Any time, Sandburg, Jim's tone was impatient.
I wish I could have helped you.
"I'm coming, Jim."
Blair wondered what it would be like this time.
There was a brilliant flash of light that made him close his eyes tightly. He knew when he opened them he would be... where? The Blue Jungle? Heaven? He kept his eyes closed until something solid and heavy hit him in the chest. He buried his fingers in unbelievably soft fur and wondered if they pelted you with mink covered sacks of cement in heaven.
A warm green world greeted him as he warily opened his eyes. The Black Panther stood over him, purring. The hard square head butted him and he heard Jim laugh. "Are you coming, Chief, or are you going to play with the cat?"
"Call him off, Jim." Blair sprawled back onto the velvet green of the grass. He sighed with relief and joy that he was here. He never would be alone again.
Jim stood waiting at the edge of the clearing, a silver-gray wolf leaning against his leg. A satisfied grin crossed his face, as he intoned dryly, "here kitty... kitty?"
"JIMMM... he's licking me!" Blair complained as he scooted out from under the powerful, but gentle-hearted creature whose tongue was like a belt sander.
The Sentinel walked over and offered his Shaman a hand up, pulling him into a rough embrace. "About time you got here." He grinned and tousled the curly hair. "Have I got something to show you, come on." He smiled and started to walk up a grassy slope.
Blair stepped over the adoring panther as it twined around his legs, and followed his friend. "Hey, Jim! Wait up."
Frank Parker sat at the console, listening to the high pitched whine that signaled the obliteration of the laptop. And everything else on Lacachee Island. For the first time in years, he crossed himself. "Please... take care of them..."
"Parker! Get to the Ready Room. We have a brief launch window and the Backstep is a Go."
"Thank you!" Parker sighed as he ran to the ready room.
Monday, the 10th
It was supposed to be a boring stakeout, sitting in an empty apartment across from the Crispman residence, on the off chance that their son Harold might drop by. Harold was wanted in several states on arson and bombing charges. He was a middleman, providing materials and hardware to anyone with the cash.
Daryl Banks had made up his mind to go to the Academy when he graduated and Simon wanted him to be very sure of his decision. He sent him on this tedious stakeout as a ridealong, wanting him to see that 80% of cop work was boring, sedentary, and definitely not action packed.
Jim had cruised past the Crispman's building, listening to the sounds from the second floor corner apartment. "Damn, he and Turkel are in there. The feds said they were both probably in Idaho by now." His voice was angry as he met his partner's gaze.
Blair finished calling for back-up. "Let's just sit tight and wait for them." He looked meaningfully at Daryl then at Jim. Jim nodded and pulled into a parking space down the block where he could monitor the wanted men. For the moment Crispman wasn't going anywhere.
The Sentinel stepped out of the truck and stood listening, trying to see into the open window, foiled by the angle and the dingy curtains flapping in and out of it. Suddenly, he turned and leaned into the window. "Come on, Chief, he and his friend are saying goodbye. Daryl, you stay in this truck. Do you hear me?"
"Yes, Sir!" Daryl's answer needed only a salute to match his obedient tone.
Blair started to get out of the high vehicle, when a strange feeling shivered through him. Something happened. A tight feeling of terror, clutched at his chest for a moment, then he felt an overwhelming sense of serenity. The strange mixture of feelings made a shiver race up his spine, as if someone walked over his grave
He shook off the feeling and looked hard at Darryl. He had been in dangerous situations before with the young man, but never as a cop. It was a very different feeling. If something happened to Daryl it would be his fault, and not just in the usual Sandburg guilt-trip sort of way. It would really be his fault, he would have failed in his job, his duty.
"Daryl, if you get out of this truck, so help me God, I'll kick the crap out of you." Perhaps an empty threat since Daryl had grown over a foot in the last few years, and now belonged to the 'people who are much taller than Blair' club.
"I promise."
Blair felt an overwhelming premonition, a sense that the young man would be in danger. "Daryl, I apologize for this. He fastened one end of his handcuffs to the young man's wrist. The other he snapped onto the steering wheel.
Grabbing the keys from the ignition, he left the truck to the sound of Darryl Bank's half annoyed, half amused, "BLAIR!"
Laughing, Blair ran after his friend. "Jim, wait up."
The end for now
...of course when Jim and Blair meet Frank and Olga, and they investigate...
Seven Days is about Frank Parker, who can travel back in time seven days.
He can change history only if something disastrous happens. Then HE is the only one who remembers the terrible things he prevented.
The End