Disclaimer: The Sentinel and its characters belong to Bilson and DeMeo. Paramount and UPN I grudgingly acknowledge as well.

Thank you to my three musketeers! Athos! Porthos! Aramis!...okay Tonya, Sandy and Robin. Special thanks to Sandy for pointing out a glaring difference in terminology. To think, Canadians and Americans see there as being few differences between nations. Beware! You can send an unsuspecting American into fits of hysterical laughter just by referring to a utility pole (which still sounds weird to me) as a hydro pole (which is what we call 'em up here in the great white north, at least in this part of Canada we do) But it seems that at one time we all called them telephone poles, so in deference to my US friends (paula smirks at Sandy) I changed it to telephone pole. Even though around here our telephone cable is now run underground. We did discover though, that fire hydrants are fire hydrants on both sides of the border. Now I wonder what telephone poles are called in other parts of the world?

"...Enemy combatants are lawful targets at all times, wherever they may be located, regardless of the activity in which they are engaged when they are attacked."
Col.W. Hays Parks, "The Legality of Snipers"

The metal clang of the mailbox closing and the retreating footsteps of the postman interrupted the usual quiet of breakfast. Slowly pushing himself away from the table, wincing at the too loud scrape of the chair against the tiled floor, he stood and stretched, yawning loudly. Lean muscles covered the six foot plus frame hidden beneath skin that was tanned and leathered from hours of labour outdoors. Hiking up his boxers and running a quick hand through closely cropped, blond hair, he went to collect his mail. Another routine beginning to another routine day. The thought managed to dampen any enthusiasm he could muster.

Flipping through the junk mail and bills, paying little attention to what was there, he almost missed it. Small and brown, the envelope was completely void of any identifying marks. This one had been hand delivered. He tossed the other letters to the floor and with fingers that were suddenly clumsy, opened it. One piece of plain, white paper fluttered to the ground. Heart pounding, he bent to pick it up. The few words that were boldly typed across the centre of the sheet sent a charge of electricity through him. "This is your wake up call." Flipping it over, he found an internet address written in tiny, precise script.

"Yes!" The word was quietly hissed as he walked back to the kitchen, crumpling the paper and envelope into a ball. Standing over the sink, he reached for a book of matches and saw with some amusement that his hands were actually shaking in anticipation. He felt as if his body was going into adrenaline overdrive. Striking a match, he set fire to the wadded up paper and dropped it into the sink, watching as it burned slowly against the stainless steel. Each lick of the yellow flame against the cold surface reawakened the soldier buried within him. When the last of the paper was nothing but ash, he went to his computer and punched the power button. Nervously pecking at the keys, he entered the address "www.col.rangers.net/sleeper.html" , and held his breath as it downloaded onto the small screen. Smiling, he saw the name and image of his prime target along with a list of secondary targets. He committed them to memory and then clicked on the grinning skull icon at the bottom of the page. A blinding flash of psychedelic colour lit the screen, dissolving what had been there.

Reaching for the phone, he called his boss. It was with no regrets that he informed the man he was quitting. It had been a dead end job anyway.

His world had suddenly come alive again.

"This is war, Sandburg!" Jim Ellison's roar reverberated off the walls, shattering the usual morning silence of the loft.

The coffee cup halted as it was brought to his lips and Blair Sandburg, part time grad student/teacher, part time police observer, and full time guide to a sentinel, watched wide-eyed from his perch in the kitchen. Slamming of drawers and not so muffled curses, with the name Sandburg being dispersed liberally throughout them, preceded the detective down the stairs from his bedroom. The anthropologist saw pink socked feet angrily stomped down stairs. He watched as an equally pink-shirted Cascade detective strode purposefully to where he sat to glare at him.

Making the mistake of trying to swallow and laugh at the same time, Blair tried to choke back the coffee that threatened to go down the wrong way. James Ellison, Sentinel of the Great City, was a vision in pastel.

"What is wrong with this picture?" The detective held the shirttails in his hands. He raised an eyebrow at his partner and then looked down with disgust at the ruined garment. "I'm so glad you think this is funny, junior."

"Ah Jim, I'd have to say that you look in the pink this morning," Sandburg laughed. "But, you know, I think deep grey pants would look better with that shirt than the white boxers."

The Sentinel treated the younger man to a tight-lipped scowl. "Why is it so hard for someone who is so smart to separate the colours from the whites?" Ellison sighed. "He who laughs last, Sandburg. You're going to replace this shirt and the socks," Jim tossed over his shoulder as he started back up the stairs to his room.

"Hey!" Blair's eyebrows shot up, his voice rising with them. "I didn't do that. I haven't done any of your laundry in the past couple of weeks. Besides, don't you usually send your shirts out?" He picked up his empty mug and took it to the sink. "So I guess if the shirt fits, wear it, man," he chuckled. "You can't pin this one on me."

The last of the breakfast dishes had been put away when Blair heard his partner descending the stairs once more. The pink shirt had been exchanged for a pale blue and the detective was just buttoning his last cuff as he walked into the galley area of the loft. Noticing that his jaw still had an angry set, Sandburg decided it was best to leave the teasing alone.

"What time is court today?"

"10:30," Ellison answered tersely as he grabbed the juice from the fridge. "I'm just going to barely have enough time to make it across town." He poured himself a glass. "Do you want a ride in?" The question had been an automatic one and he regretted it as soon as he spoke it. There was no way he would be able to detour to Rainier and still make it to the courthouse on time. He only hoped Sandburg realized that.

"No, that's okay, Jim. Since I don't have to go into the station with you this morning, I thought I would do some work here and then head out for my class." Blair hung the damp dish towel on the rack under the sink. "Can I get a ride back home with you though? My car's still in the shop. They have to replace the brake pads but didn't have the right parts."

"Yeah, sure," the older man grumbled as he fished his keys from the table.

"Good luck in court. I'll talk to you later," the anthropologist called to his friend's back but the door had already slammed shut. "Whew," Sandburg smiled to himself, "wonder what his reaction would have been if I had messed up his shirts?"

"Please state your name and occupation and then be seated." The bailiff's drawl dripped with boredom. The case had dragged on through most of the day with only a short recess at noon. It was just coming up to 2:00 when Ellison was finally called to give testimony.

"Detective James Ellison, Major Crimes Division, Cascade P.D." The long hours of warming hard benches had his nerves on edge. At best courtrooms made him nervous. The heightened senses that allowed him to be a first rate detective left him vulnerable as a witness. To tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth was never an option. Clearing his throat, he shifted uncomfortably in the chair. The tie he had hastily put on that morning seemed to have shrunk and he pulled at the knot, hoping to loosen it enough so that he could breathe. Licking at dry lips, he stared at the prosecutor who seemed to be taking his time in approaching and asking his first question. He took a deep, calming breath. He would just deliver his evidence and be on his way.

The district attorney seemed at last ready to start when the detective felt a slight change in air pressure. The doors of the courtroom swung open, admitting a lone figure who quickly and quietly took a seat at the back of the room. Ellison smiled at his partner's jaunty little wave and settled back, ready to answer the first question.

"Hey Chief, what're you doing here? Thought you had classes this afternoon?" Jim had spotted his friend waiting for him in the hallway. "Not that I'm not glad to see you."

Shifting his backpack onto his shoulder, Sandburg fell into step with the detective. "Yeah, well, I do. I have to get back there for a late lecture at 6:00. I called you around lunchtime to let you know that they fixed my car and that I didn't need a ride after all." Blair pulled his sunglasses down over his eyes as they left the dimly lit building and walked out into the bright afternoon sun. "When Rafe told me that you were still here, and that you didn't think you would be called to testify anytime soon, I decided that if I got the chance I'd come down and keep you company."

"Good thing you did too," Jim smiled as he pushed the walk button. "I had been sitting there so long that I really got myself into a state by the time they called me." He guided the younger man across the street when the light had changed. "It helped to see a friendly face."

"All in a day's work for your guide and sidekick," Blair laughed. "Where we headed? I parked next to you and your truck's up the other way."

"Time to put on the old feedbag, kimosabe. I couldn't eat before and now I'm starving." He squinted into the sunlight, trying to decide which fast food restaurant would satisfy his craving. "You got time for a quick bite?"

"Sure," Blair answered as he grabbed his friend's arm and pulled him away from the greasy spoon he was heading for. "But how about picking a place where I can actually find something I want to eat?"

Ellison's retort was lost in the sound of breaking glass. The plate glass window of the small diner shattered into thousands of tiny pieces, sending razor sharp shards onto the customers. Both men stood rooted, momentarily stunned, until the pain filled screams of the people inside began to register. The rain of glass had transformed the restaurant into something resembling a bloody battlefield.

Entering the diner, Jim looked at the old man behind the counter. "Are you all right?" Making eye contact, he asked, "Can you call 911?" At the man's nod he joined his partner in helping the injured. Fortunately, not too many had been sitting directly in front of the window when it had collapsed. Spotting Blair in the far corner of the room, wrapping a napkin around a small child's arm, he went to a young woman sitting on the floor who seemed to be the most in need of help. She looked up gratefully, clutching a trembling hand to her bleeding shoulder.

"It just all came down on us," she gasped. "What happened? Was it an earthquake?"

"Whatever it was, it's over." He smiled reassuringly at her. "Let me take a look at your shoulder."

Carefully lifting the cloth away from the cut, Ellison checked for any glass that may have been embedded. Seeing none, he quickly tore a table cloth into long strips and made a compress. Taking the woman's hand in his, he placed it over the makeshift bandage. "It doesn't look too deep at all. Keep some pressure on it." He helped her to her feet and a chair. "Were you cut anywhere else?"

"No, I'm okay. Thanks." She gave him a shaky grin.

Satisfied that she was all right, he moved on to the next one. Both he and Sandburg worked quickly and efficiently until the paramedic team arrived.

"I told you that eating in these places wasn't healthy," Sandburg's strained voice came from behind the detective, who had just finished giving a statement to a uniformed officer.

Ellison turned to his partner, taking note of his pallor. "You okay, Chief?"

"Yeah," Blair nodded. "Just a lot of blood. Kinda got to me for a minute. So what do you think happened? I didn't feel any tremors."

"Neither did I. I was just as surprised as you when the window shattered. Maybe a stress point that finally collapsed?" He put an arm around his friend's shoulders and headed for the door. "I don't know about you, Sandburg, but I've lost my appetite. I sure could go for a beer about now though."

"Sounds good to me, but aren't you still on duty, Detective Ellison?" Blair's eyes crinkled mischievously, a sure sign that he was recovering from the episode in the diner. Jim smiled down at his partner, wishing, not for the first time, that the kid would try sympathy rather than empathy. His guide was too willing to take on other people's emotions, leaving himself too open.

"Nope," he said, holding out his arm for Blair to see his watch. "5:15 p.m. In fact I could put in for fifteen minutes of overtime."

"5:15 already?" It came out as a groan. "Man, time flies when you're havin' fun. I gotta get back for that class."

"You're sure you're up to it? You still look a little green."

Blair smiled at his friend's concern. "I'm fine and I can't miss this one. So I guess I'll see you back at the loft."

"Okay kid, I'll see you at home." Jim watched his friend disappear down the street. His guide's resiliency never ceased to amaze him. Somehow, Sandburg always managed to roll with the punches and come out fighting. Suddenly aware that he was standing alone on a public street with a grin plastered to his face, the detective shook himself. Making sure his stern 'cop' look was in place, he went in search of a cold beer and a sandwich.

From the roof of the courthouse, sunlight danced off the lens of a camera. The mechanical whir of the shutter releasing was followed by a satisfied grunt. Like shooting ducks in a pond. Wiping sweat from his brow, he carefully stowed his gear. Standing slowly, he flexed his legs, trying to relieve the strain of muscles that had been in a cramped position for too long. He had spent most of the day on that roof. Hefting two large dufflebags, he slung them over his shoulder and made his way to the fire escape. Hunting season in Cascade was officially declared open.

Ellison found it tucked in with the folders that had been deposited on his desk. Giving the top sheet a cursory glance, assuming it had fallen out of another file, he started to place it aside to be sorted out later. When he saw his own surname printed boldly at the top of the page, he stopped to study it.


Sandburg looked up from the text he had been studying, startled by his friend's outburst. "Jim, what is it?"

Wordlessly, the detective tossed the stapled papers in his partner's general direction as he reached for the phone. Blair caught them before they hit the floor and scanned them to see what had sent the detective into a near frenzy. The top sheet was a crudely drawn graph. Squinting at the messy scrawl that covered it, he hoped he had read it wrong. Quickly flipping to the next page there were three charts meticulously filled in and dated two days past. He turned to the following page, his heart sinking as he saw the words scribbled at the top, Ellison-Carolyn Plummer (wife). Below was a rough sketch of a human body. A thick, red, grease pencil had been used to circle the area around the heart. The last page was a photograph and he was sure that this was what had sent Ellison into a panic. The picture was of a smiling Carolyn, standing in front of a car. The area around her heart had been circled with a thick, red, grease pencil.

"Carolyn, it's Jim. Give me a call as soon as you get this message." Disconnecting the line, he dialed again. "Carolyn Plummer please." Forcing air through clenched teeth, he waited. "Hi Carolyn...Oh, sorry. I see. For how long? Do you know if...? All right then, I'll try that. Thanks."

"No luck?" Blair asked, placing the papers back on the desk.

"Vacation." Ellison reached for the leather bound journal that sat next to the computer and began flipping through it. "I'm sure I still have Wendy's number here."

"Wendy?" Sandburg was sure he hadn't heard the name before.

"Sister." Jim ran a finger down the page, finally finding the one he was searching for. "They're pretty close. Maybe Carolyn's visiting her. They're both living in San Francisco now." He dialed and then began to tap his fingers impatiently. "C'mon Wendy, be there."

Going to stand in front of the desk, Blair studied the charts again. He heard the soft click and the muffled hello as someone picked up. Holding his breath, he watched his friend's face, waiting for the worst.

"Wendy? Hi it's... Damn." Ellison slammed the phone down with such force that Blair expected to see it crumble into dust. At Sandburg's questioning look, the detective grimaced. "I know, I know. I'll leave a message." He lifted the receiver and dialed the number.

Blair pulled his chair up closer to the edge of the desk and once again looked at the papers that had been left. What he held in his hands seemed to be a sniper's worksheet. The graph noted various external elements and their effects on a bullet's trajectory and velocity. This was followed by a sheet that recorded the date and number and type of rounds fired. Another chart seemed to be a log sheet of general observations. Beneath this was a sketch of what Sandburg assumed was the location from which the sniper would be shooting. The last sheet was the most disturbing. His eyes were automatically drawn to the red circle that marked the target. Turning this over, he looked at the picture of Jim's ex-wife. He could only hope that she was safe.

"I had hoped to never see one of those again." Jim's voice was filled with loathing. He took the material from his partner's hands and slowly thumbed through its pages.

"Then this is for real?" Blair couldn't hide his wonderment. "It's like...it's like..."

"It's like exactly what it is, Chief. It's a killer's handbook," Jim sighed. "Every military, mercenary, or gun-loving creep keeps one. It's our bible, our diary, the scrapbook we use to record our successes." He shuddered, trying to shake off less than pleasant memories.

"We, Jim?" Sandburg hadn't missed the implication. "You...?"

"Yes, me." Anger flared at the accusation he thought he saw in his guide's eyes. "I had to follow orders, like any good soldier, Sandburg." His voice was cold. "I'd be a natural for a job like that, wouldn't I?" Painful recollections and indignation at Blair's reaction hit him hard. He looked away, afraid he wouldn't be able to survive his friend's scrutiny. What had the kid expected? He had been a soldier. Employed by his government to protect home and country. Trained and programmed to obey, he had been good at it. He wasn't about to apologize for that, even if he couldn't forgive himself for all of it. The kid still had no right to judge him.

As that last thought ran through his mind, Jim felt a hand come down on his shoulder and give it a squeeze. He looked up into eyes that held nothing but understanding and perhaps a little sadness. Why had he thought he had seen anything else there?

"That must have been hard for you, Jim. I'm sorry." His shoulder was given another squeeze before Sandburg moved to stand by the computer. "So what do we do now? What about Carolyn?"

"I'll send this up to forensics and then I guess it's back to phone calls. Someone has to know where she is." He noticed the closed blinds on Banks' office. His captain's version of 'keep out'. But he was sure that this was something the man would want to know. "And we tell Simon."

"Aren't you forgetting something here, man?" The anthropologist shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Something important?"

Ellison was puzzled by his partner's look of exasperation. "What're you getting at, Chief? Until we find Carolyn and get some details from forensics there really isn't a lot else we can do." As usual the kid had jumped two steps ahead of him and the detective couldn't tell in which direction he was headed.

"Well, that's not exactly true," Blair's voice dropped to a near whisper. "There's probably a ton of information sitting on those pages. We just have to look for it. But that's not what I'm worried about. What about you?"

The Sentinel couldn't help but smile at the determined set of his friend's face. "Don't worry, Sandburg, I know that I'm a part of this too. I just don't have enough to know what part...yet. We'll figure it out." He got up and started for Banks' office. "Let's go talk to Simon, Chief."

The gentle rap on the captain's door was met with a less than welcoming "What?!"

Jim hesitated before turning the knob, giving his partner a quick look and mouthing "oh boy" at him. Sensitive hearing had picked up the sound of a pen being slammed down on a desk and the elevated heartbeat of his superior.

"Maybe I better wait at your desk." Sandburg tried to walk away but found his arm in Ellison's vice-like grip.

"You're with me, kid." He pushed the door open and prepared himself for Banks' steely glare.

"What is it, Jim?" The words were clipped and impatient. "I have to have a budget justification on the Chief's desk by tomorrow morning. Unless this is life or death, I don't want to hear about it." The captain's eyes widened slightly as he watched Ellison close the door behind him. He was certain now that he didn't want to hear about it. "So what have the two of you gotten yourselves involved with this time?"

"I found this on my desk, sir." Jim placed the sniper sheets in front of Simon. "It's not us, Captain. It's Carolyn."

Both Ellison and Sandburg sat at the conference table, giving the captain time to look over the pages. The detective sat almost ramrod straight, staring down at his hands clasped in front of him. The slight twitch of the jaw muscles was the only clue as to what was going through his mind. Blair could see the tension building in his friend and reached across the table to lay a hand on his partner's arm. "She's probably okay, Jim. Wouldn't we have heard something if she wasn't?"

"She's supposed to be on vacation, Blair. What if no one's missed her yet?" He pulled his arm away, not wanting to be placated just yet. Carolyn had been his wife and was still one of his closest friends. He knew, deep down, that if she were in trouble or hurt he was somehow the reason for it. Why else would he have received the gruesome report?

Simon walked over to the conference table shaking his head. "You've tried to contact Carolyn to make sure this isn't some sort of hoax?" He knew he was asking the obvious.

"She's on vacation, Simon. I've left messages for her and her sister, both. No one at SFPD seems to know where she was going. I'm going to try them again. See if I can't get them to do some searching for us. They can check her house." Ellison pulled at his ear. "I'll check with her parents, too. I just hate alarming them before we know what's going on."

"If what's written here is on the up and up you know we're dealing with a professional." The look on the captain's face was one of pure distaste. "Just look at this. Ultramatch AR-15 rifle, 2490 hollow points. My God, he's even worked out range and velocity for stationary and moving targets..."

Jim rose abruptly from his chair to pace the room, interrupting Banks' litany. "I know all that Simon! He just doesn't sound like a professional, he sounds military." He stopped his pacing and leaned heavily on the back of a chair. "I can even smell the friction compound he's gotta be using."

Up until this point Blair had sat quietly listening to the two men, understanding little of it. He'd read the information recorded there but none of it had made any real sense until the last two pages. "You can smell the compound, Jim?" He finally had something he could work with. "Is it one you recognize? Maybe something that could be traced back to this guy?"

"Maybe..." Ellison's voice softened as he picked up the sheets and held them closer to his nose. "It's faint...smells something like what we used to use..." He broke off, the frustration back in his voice. "No, nothing I can recognize."

"You know who might be able to help out here, don't you Jim?" Banks knew he wouldn't need to remind his detective. "Why don't you go and talk to him and I'll get things rolling in San Francisco."

Sandburg was surprised when the elevator doors opened on the 5th floor. He had naturally assumed they were headed for the garage. "Who we going to see, Jim?"

"Will Gowling. He used to head the S.W.A.T. team a few years ago until a sniper caught him in the back. The injury was bad enough to get him off the team but he's still the best ballistics man anywhere. And he's kept himself up-to-date with the latest developments in sniper shootings." He steered Blair through the double doors that faced them. "That was a great suggestion, Chief. Good thing one of us is still thinking."

"You think Gowling will know about it?"

"If it's out there, Sandburg, he'll know about it." Ellison nodded in the direction of where two men stood going over some files. "There's Will." He steered Blair in their direction and called in greeting, "Hey Will, I need to pick your brain."

Both men turned in the Sentinel's direction and Sandburg was once again surprised. The younger of the two men, who looked hardly older than himself, smiled a hello. Curly red hair and a sprinkling of freckles across his nose and cheeks made Gowling look barely out of his teens.

"Jim! Good to see you." The lanky six-footer reached out a hand. "And Blair Sandburg, I presume? I've heard a lot about you." He flashed a quick grin. "Mostly good."

"Mostly good?" Sandburg laughed. "I must be improving."

"So Jim, what's this all about?"

"Have there been any new developments with friction compounds?"

"Yeah," Gowling sounded surprised. "In fact I just got a sample of some and a survey the company wants us to fill out if we decide to try it." He reached behind him and plucked a small tin from the lab table. "I haven't had a chance to even look at this yet. But I made a few calls around and some of the other S.W.A.T units around the state seem to really like it." He carefully popped the lid off the container.

Sandburg watched his partner's face, knowing that as soon as the canister was open Ellison would be able to identify it if it was the same compound. The sudden light of excitement in his friend's eyes gave him the answer he had hoped for. It was a match.

The Sentinel took the can from Gowling. "What's this called? It looks like a different base than the usual. Don't think I've ever seen it in a liquid before."

"No, you wouldn't have. It's not the usual sulfide base. It's a non-corrosive phosphorous." Will began to talk a little faster as his excitement grew. "That's the beauty of it, Jim. It's a liquid. You can use it just about anywhere...bullets, triggers. It's going to increase our accuracy if everything I've heard about it is true." Snagging the survey form from behind him, Gowling read, "Moly-Fision. That's the name of the product. I can get you a list of suppliers and manufacturers if you need one."

"That would help a lot, Will. Thanks." The detective handed back the tin. "Is it widely available?"

"Not yet. It's still at the beta stage. I think just professionals are looking at it right now. Maybe some suppliers have been distributing it commercially. But I doubt it." He slid down from the lab stool. "Let me get you that list. I'll be right back."

"A lead!" Blair excitedly slapped his friend's arm. "This is great."

"A lead?" Jim's voice was a mixture of surprise and concern. "Sandburg, you've got to stop hanging around the station so much. I'm starting to worry about you." His face relaxed into a small grin. "But yeah, a lead to our shooter. Nice work, Chief."

Shadows and light played across Jim's strong features as he stood looking out the balcony windows. An entire day had gone by with no news of Carolyn. San Francisco police had no idea of where she had planned to vacation. A trip to her house had revealed nothing. It had been locked up tight and seemed untouched. There was still no word from Carolyn's sister and Ellison began to suspect that the two were traveling together. That left contacting her parents. He dreaded having to make that call and would put it off for as long as he could. With a frustrated sigh he gathered up his cup and plate from the coffee table and headed into the kitchen. The day had precious few hours left in it and he knew that come morning he would have to call the Plummers.

"Can't sleep, Jim?" Blair's own sleep filled voice startled Ellison.

The detective had been so focused on Carolyn that he hadn't heard the bedroom door open. Sandburg stood beside him, hair tousled, barely awake. Even with the encroaching five o'clock shadow, his Guide managed to look no more than a kid. Jim watched with fond amusement as his friend moved, as if by instinct, reaching for the kettle and filling it with water.

"I was just heading up to bed, Chief," he answered, gently taking the kettle from the younger man's hands. "Why don't you head back to bed too. What are you doing up anyway? I thought you said you were tired enough to sleep through the next couple of days."

"Couldn't shut my mind down I guess," Blair yawned. "I keep waking up every hour. Too wired to really fall asleep." He trained a concerned gaze on his partner. "Thinking about Carolyn?"

Ellison rubbed at weary eyes with a thumb and forefinger before nodding yes. "She's out there, somewhere. I don't know if she's all right, if she needs help or is hurt. Or worse. The not knowing is killing me."

"We'll find out something soon, Jim." Blair tried to put as much confidence into his voice as possible. "She's probably on a cruise somewhere and doesn't even realize what's going on." He ran his fingers through a tangled mass of curls. "But you're right, it's hard not to worry. I think that's what's been keeping me up too."

"Oh c'mon, Sandburg, you hardly know her." Fatigue, and the frustration of not knowing, shot the words from his mouth almost before he had finished thinking them. Jim saw his partner turn away quickly but not before glimpsing the hurt in the always expressive eyes. Mentally kicking himself, for not having better control over his temper he attempted to apologize. "That wasn't fair, Chief. I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it, Jim. You're tired." Blair smiled up at him and headed back to his room. "Try to get some sleep."

"Way to go, Ellison," Jim whispered as he watched the French doors softly swing shut.

"Morning, Jim." Will Gowling stood in front of the detective's desk, a coffee cup balanced precariously on a stack of papers. "I talked to Simon yesterday and he told me what was going on, so I did a little digging on my own. Hope you don't mind?"

Clearing folders from the chair next to his desk, Ellison invited the other man to sit down. "Not at all. Don't tell me that's what you came up with."

"It's not as bad as it looks. Really." Gowling slowly sat, placing the cup on the floor beside him. "What I did was put together a list of nearby suppliers. Then I checked that against gun dealers that might carry the sniper model our shooter claims to be using. That's one hell of a gun, Jim." He pulled a neon folder from the bottom of the stack and handed it to Ellison. "What I came up with was a match of about thirty dealers. This other stuff is just the separate lists. I thought you might want to keep them on file too. I've faxed a copy of this to SFPD as well."

Scanning the list, Ellison whistled softly. "These are all within a 100 mile radius. No wonder everyone in America seems to be armed these days."

Gowling scowled, "Does seem that way. But these are the serious dealers. The ones that would stock what this guy is using. And provided that they're playing by the rules, there should be records for every sale." He leaned forward and pointed to a dozen spots that had been highlighted. "These are the sellers that might be stocking Moly-Fision. It's been on the market for a few months it seems. But it's probably relatively new to everyone except the fanatics."

"This is great Will. It's going to save me a lot of work. Thanks."

"Anything to help you find Carolyn." The ballistics expert reached down and picked up his coffee. "Call me if you hear anything. And if you need an extra pair of hands to help track down those dealers, let me know."

"Thanks Will, I'll do that." He held up the folder. "I really appreciate this. I'll walk out with you. I need a coffee."

He had just grabbed his coffee cup when Rafe called excitedly from across the room. "Hey, Jim! Line one. I think you better pick it up."

Shrugging his shoulders at Gowling, he picked up the phone. "Ellison." With eyebrows that threatened to crawl up into his hairline, he dropped into his chair. "Carolyn?! Thank God! Are you all right? Where are you?" Laughing with relief, Ellison listened to his ex-wife's long tale of rental cars and mountain getaways. "But you're home now. Yes, I know there's a squad car outside your door. Let me explain." A half an hour later he had convinced Carolyn of the seriousness of the threat and had arranged with her superiors for around-the-clock surveillance. Until they found the sniper the threat still existed.

Holding the boiling pot at arms length, Blair emptied the pasta into the strainer. Billowing clouds of steam immediately fogged up his glasses and forced him to look away. As he did, he saw his partner enter the loft. Giving his friend a quick smile, he shook the last of the water from the linguine and tossed it back into the pot.

Ellison followed the spicy aromas into the kitchen, a grin spreading across his face. "Hmm, let me see. Garlic, definitely garlic. Parsley and cheese." He took another deep breath. "Hot pepper, salt, white wine and olive oil."

"And?" Sandburg waved a wooden spoon at him, signaling for him to go on.

"And clams. No wait, mussels," he finished and waited for Blair's reaction, very pleased with himself.

"Right on both counts, Jim. Clams and mussels." The anthropologist took the simmering sauce from the stovetop and tossed it into the pasta. "Dinner's going to be ready in about five minutes."

Reaching into the pot, Ellison fished out one of the mussels. "So, this is a pretty fancy meal for a weeknight. What's the occasion?" He scooped the tender piece of shellfish with his fingers and popped it into his mouth. "Very nice, Sandburg," he smiled appreciatively.

"No occasion, really," Blair set the bowl of linguine on the table. "Some of the guys in the department went digging and decided to share the clams. When I stopped off at the market to pick up some French loaf, I saw the mussels and thought that I'd add some."

"Just wanted to turn it up a notch, did you?" Jim smiled at his partner's look. "Never mind. Something I saw on some cooking show one night. I'll go get washed and be right back." He headed for the bathroom, leaving the door open as he washed his hands. "I tried to reach you, Chief. I heard from Carolyn."

"You did?" Blair was standing in the doorway. "Is she okay?"

"She's fine," Jim smiled as he grabbed the towel from the back of the door. "You were right. It wasn't a cruise, it was a mountain getaway, but she had no idea about what was going on. She made me laugh. She told me that she and her sister had rented a car and that it decided to breakdown in the middle of nowhere. The two of them were stuck on a mountain road for a couple of hours until a ranger rescued them. I know it's not funny, but you should have heard her tell it." He chuckled as he remembered it. "It was some diabolical plot of the car's. Poor Carolyn. But the important thing is that she's safe and we've arranged for her to be under guard until we know what's going on."

"What about the sniper? Any luck on tracing him?" Sandburg had gone back to the dining area and was dishing out the linguine. "Did finding out about that Moly-fision lead anywhere?"

"Will managed to narrow down the suppliers for us. He concentrated on the area around Cascade but we sent copies of everything he found to San Francisco too, just in case." Ellison twirled the long strands around his fork, taking the time to enjoy the aroma before actually tasting it. "You know Chief, this is really good. Maybe you should skip anthropology and switch to culinary arts."

"Sure," Blair laughed. "I'll think about it." He poured himself a glass of wine. "But, you know Jim, none of this makes any sense. This guy goes to all the trouble of stalking Carolyn to take her picture and everything. He makes up this bogus target sheet and sends it to you. And then nothing. You haven't heard from him again, right? So what's his game?"

"Wish I knew, Blair," the detective sighed. "All we can do is follow up on any leads and try to make sure Carolyn stays safe until we find this guy." He reached for the baguette and broke off a piece. "But I agree with you, it doesn't make any sense."

"It just makes me nervous, Jim." Blair put his fork down and looked steadily at his friend. "You're a part of this, too. Or he wouldn't have contacted you. Maybe you are the target. When's he going to make his move?"

"Ask me something I know the answer to, Chief. Until we can get a lead on who he is or until he makes another move, we just have to wait it out." Ellison looked at his partner's barely touched meal. "This is great linguine Sandburg, why don't you try eating some. Nothing's going to get solved tonight, so just relax."

"I know, you're right." Taking a deep breath, Blair forced a smile. "I can't help worrying sometimes. You know me. Start early and avoid the rush." He picked up an empty clam shell and turned it over in his hands. "I don't suppose that there's any chance that you'd consider around the clock protection too?" He asked the question quietly, his eyes focused on the shell.

"I think that might be a little premature, kid," Ellison reasoned. "We don't know what this guy's objective is yet. For all we know, Carolyn is it and he just decided to add a little extra taunt by sending something to me. I'll take a look at the cases we worked together and see if anything sounds like it might go somewhere." Reaching for the bowl, he took a second helping. "Try not to worry, Chief.

The words on the page had begun to run together and Blair realized he had no idea what he had just read. With a tired sigh he closed the large tome and reached over to turn out the light by his bed. For all of Jim's reassurances there was no shutting out the fear that the detective was the real target. It was the only thing that made sense. The sniper's log sheets were more thumbing a nose in Ellison's face than a taunt. Sandburg was sure it had just started. Shifting down further under the blankets, he tried to concentrate on something else. As much as he tried, his brain refused to let it go. Images of what might happen flashed through his mind. Each of them ending with his friend being killed by a sniper's bullet.

Throwing the covers back, he sat cross-legged on the bed. The more his mind played with each scenario, the more agitated he became. And Jim's attitude. Blair wondered how his friend could be so nonchalant about it. Now that Carolyn had been found and put under guard it was as if Jim had gone to yellow alert. Try not to worry, Chief? How could he not worry? Groaning softly to himself, he laid his head in his hands. Out of all the possible professions, why did his sentinel have to be cop? He was sure chartered accountants didn't receive cryptic messages from psychos. At least then all he would have to worry about as a guide would be Ellison's zoning out from boredom or an allergic reaction to ink stained fingers. With a sigh, he flopped back down onto the bed. He sometimes feared that his partner saw himself as almost invincible. Jim was always too ready to go in where angels feared to tread. Sure, the heightened senses gave him a definite edge, but it had been proven, and heart stoppingly so, that they didn't make him bulletproof.

Rolling onto his stomach, he closed his eyes and tried to relax. What did it matter? He could worry all he wanted but it wouldn't change anything. Jim would be Jim, and wherever that took the sentinel, Blair knew one thing was certain. He would be right there beside him.

Rucker Ellison slowly straightened. He had just finished checking the gauges on the scuba gear when he heard the noise a second time. As far as he knew he was alone at the substation. Andrea had gone into the mainland for some supplies and wasn't due back for a few hours. But he was sure he had heard the soft rumble of a motor. It was a small engine by the sounds of it. Shading his eyes against the glare off the water, he searched for signs of the boat.

The seascape before him was as calm and peaceful as always. The smooth surface rippled against the wind, sending small waves gently lapping against the shore and the side of the cruiser. The soothing sounds were barely heard over the screeching of gulls as they circled above. Shrugging his shoulders and assuming it was the trick of an echo or the engine of a small plane that he had heard, Rucker went back to the task of inspecting the diving equipment. Twisting around, he reached for the needlenosed pliers from the toolbox behind him. Just as his fingers found the tool they sought, bright lights and pain exploded inside his head. He fell into a heap on the deck. Lying there, on the bottom of the boat, he fought back the blackness, trying to gather the energy to open eyes that were squeezed shut against dizziness and nausea. His hand gingerly went up to his temple and connected with wetness. Pulling it away, he struggled to focus on his fingers. With a surprised grunt he saw that their tips were blotted with red. Part of his mind tried to understand what had happened but soon lost its battle as consciousness slipped away.

Whistling off key as he walked to his pickup, Ellison was feeling as if a small weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Carolyn had been discovered safe and sound and she would stay that way until he had a chance to figure out what was going on. A quick call to her that morning had confirmed that police were stationed in and around her house. Still sounding annoyed at being placed under house protection, she had finally relented and promised her ex-husband that she would stay put. For the time being. She had also reminded him that she too was a trained officer and well equipped to take care of herself.

Jim knew that hoping the gunman's silence was a sign that his game was at an end was a false hope. It rarely ended so soon. The detailed planning that had gone into the sniper's log warned of more to come. Though he would never admit it to Sandburg, the whole situation had him unnerved and perhaps the tiniest bit frightened. Carolyn had been targeted because she was close to him. That much was obvious. His ex-wife had escaped injury, but he wondered if that was by design or because she had been out of town. Had they just gotten lucky with this one? Whatever small peace he had found in the knowledge that Carolyn was unhurt quickly eroded as his anxiety grew. More than anything, the detective hated cat and mouse games. He wanted it up front and out in the open. If someone was after him, let it be about him. A flash of white caught his eye and his breath snagged in his throat as he approached the truck. A large, watertight envelope had been taped to the windshield. He heard Blair coming up behind him as he tore it from the glass.

"Another one." It hadn't been a question and Ellison heard the resignation in his friend's voice. Sandburg had been expecting this as well. "For whom the bell tolls, man."

Taking care to not corrupt any evidence that might be on the package, Jim slowly ripped the envelope open. The tangy smell of the compound that had covered the first sheets wafted up as soon as it was opened. "It's from him." He gingerly pulled the papers out. "Got a notebook in that pack of yours, Chief?"

"Yeah, sure." Blair swung the bag to the ground and pulled out a pad of long paper. Following Jim's instructions, he laid the tablet on the hood of the Ford and watched as his partner carefully set the papers out. "Geez, Jim, look at the name. Rucker. It's dated yesterday." He watched with morbid fascination as each sheet was turned. "Oh no," Sandburg looked away. The target this time was a head shot. The final photograph was of Rucker Ellison lying on the deck of his boat. "Oh no," Blair whispered again and sagged against the side of the truck.

Ellison gathered up the papers and put them back into the envelope. Wordlessly, he handed the pad of paper back to Sandburg and walked around the truck to the driver's side. It wasn't until he was sitting behind the wheel and Blair had jumped in beside him that he allowed himself to react. With an angry flick of his wrist, the detective sent the package sailing into the windshield before it landed on the dashboard.

"What's going on Chief?" The words were breathed out in complete anguish. "Is this guy going to slowly work his way through my family?" He pulled his cellphone out of his pocket, hesitating. "I really don't want to make this call."

Blair pulled the cellphone from his friend's grasp and asked gently, "What's the number, Jim? I'll call." He quickly tapped in the number and held the phone to his ear. He could feel his own heart thudding in his chest and could only imagine what his partner was going through. After the fifth ring, someone picked up. "Hi, I'd like to speak to Rucker Ellison please." His eyes widened and he glanced over at Jim. "Sure, I'll hold." With a sigh of relief he handed the phone back to Ellison. "That was Andy, she's gone to get him."

"The bullet just creased his forehead," Jim explained to Banks. "It happened yesterday. Rucker thought it was someone hunting out of season. Both he and Andy did."

Simon took the cigar out of his mouth and leaned back into his chair. "But he's all right?"

"He's got a nasty headache," Blair smiled. "But other than that he's okay." He favoured his friend with a worried glance. "And maybe Jim will eventually let himself believe that."

"I do believe it, Sandburg," Jim's voice was cold. "But it doesn't change anything. Carolyn and now Rucker have been targets. I'm the only common denominator between them." He folded his arms across his chest. "It's not too hard to see what he's doing. Carolyn was just a threat. Rucker was actually injured, if only slightly. And I have to believe that this guy is in complete control. I don't think he intended to do anything else but wound my cousin."

"So then the question is who's next and how bad is it going to be?" Simon grimaced. "Have we come up with anything from what little we have to go on?"

"Nothing, sir," Ellison shook his head in disgust. "Will's been doing some checking into the rifle and the compound but so far nothing has turned into a lead." He flexed his shoulders, trying to relieve some of the tension there. "And as for who's next? Anyone who's close to me. But it'll depend on how much this guy knows, too."

"He's gotta know quite a bit, Jim," Blair offered. "Would you have put Rucker on your list of people you're close to? You don't see him all that often. I'd known you for over a year before you ever mentioned him."

"The kid's got a point, Jim." Simon took off his glasses and began to clean them. "For all we know, this guy has been doing his homework for a long time."

"Well I know one thing for sure and that's you stop riding with me, Chief." Ellison gave his partner a pointed look. "If this guy is targeting friends and family, Sandburg, then you're going to be at the top of his list."

Blair looked up at his partner, pleased and surprised by what he had said. "Thanks for the sentiment, Jim, but no way. I'm sticking with you." He held up a hand to put a halt to his friend's argument. "You said that the sniper is probably a professional. Whether I'm ten miles away or standing right next to you, I don't think that's going to change anything. He got close enough to take pictures of Carolyn and actually shoot Rucker."

"Blair's right, Jim," Simon pulled a folder from a neatly stacked mound of reports. "I didn't want to show you this until all the facts were in. You had enough on your mind with Carolyn missing." He handed the file to Ellison. "I think our shooter has already played target practice with you two."

"What is it, Captain?" Blair quickly scanned the report in his partner's hands. "It's about the diner? But I thought ..." Sandburg paled as he read further. "A bullet?"

Banks nodded. "Same calibre as the one mentioned in that sniper's log on Carolyn. And I'm sure with a little checking back with the police looking into Jim's cousin's shooting, we'll find the same calibre again." He stood up and went to stand behind his detective and, pointing at a highlighted paragraph, continued, "The insurance investigators found the bullet when they were looking for a reason for the window to collapse."

"Damn, why didn't we find out about this sooner, Simon?" Jim handed the folder back to the captain.

"As I said, Jim, we were waiting for more details." Banks went back to his seat behind the desk. "The only reason this even made it to Major Crimes is because both you and Blair filed a report with one of the uniforms on the scene. When I saw the ammo they pulled out of the floor, it was like a red flag being waved."

"So this guy has been floating around Cascade for a while?" Sandburg shuddered at the thought. He and Jim had been targets for days. "Man, we might just as well get matching shirts with bullseyes painted on the back."

Blair sat on the almost decadently soft couch in William Ellison's living room. His shoes seemed to sink into the carpeting, nearly lost in the deep pile. Glancing around the room, he noted the artwork. Original oils by artists he actually recognized. The furniture was solid, heavy. It was a comfortable room. He liked it. Sinking back into the sofa, he sighed. The see-saw battle between the Ellisons, father and son, had been raging for almost an hour. He was starting to get a headache.

William Ellison paced in front of his son. "This just isn't acceptable!" He stopped and pointed a finger at the detective. "I will not be locked up indefinitely in my own home. I have to leave in a few days for a business meeting on the east coast." His blue eyes had narrowed to angry slits.

"This is for your own protection." Equally blue eyes glared back at the older man. "It'll only be for a few days. But until we find this guy I want you to stay under protective custody." Jim Ellison's voice rose in volume with each word. Obstinance was a characteristic shared by all the Ellison men. If it was going to be a battle to keep his father safe, he was prepared to fight. Crossing his arms, he waited for his father's next argument. He had been involved in enough of them to know the old man wasn't finished.

"Can you give me any guarantees that this will only be a few days?" He took a step closer to his son. "Or that I'm not going to lose a very large investment because of this?"

Having moved to stand behind the elder Ellison, Blair had a clear view of his partner's face. He knew the mention of money had been the wrong thing to say and winced, waiting for the explosion. He didn't have long to wait.

"Money?!" Jim was incredulous. "We're talking about your safety...your life...and you're worried about some investment?" Shaking his head in disgust, he was ready to admit defeat. He and Stephen had come second to business deals all through their growing up years. It seemed his father placed himself second to them as well. "All this time and you still haven't gotten your priorities straight. Fine. I can't force you to accept protection. You do what you want." He started to turn away when he caught his friend's expression.


"What, Chief? You heard him. I've talked until I'm blue in the face." He looked back to his father. "He just won't listen."

"Why don't you stop talking to him like a cop." Blair felt the older Ellison's gaze on him. "Maybe he'd like to hear from his son."

Taking a deep breath, the detective slowly let it out. If it would make his father listen to reason he would try anything. "Dad? Please." He grasped his father's arms, feeling the man tense. "I'm worried about you. More than that I'm frightened for you. Please, let me try to keep you safe." He watched as his father's glare softened into a grin.

"I guess I can put that meeting off for another week," William said quietly after a few minutes. "I'll do whatever you suggest, son."

Blair watched father and son and smiled. Letting out his breath, he rocked back on his heels quite pleased with himself. One Ellison meltdown averted.

"Stop looking so smug, Sandburg," William Ellison tempered the statement with a smile. "But thank you, I think I just needed the right incentive." He rested a hand on his son's arm. "What about Stephen. You've talked to him?"

"I called and told him to stay put. Two detectives are there with him now. He's safe. But he's going to get the same from me if he gives me an argument." Scanning the living room, Jim frowned. "I never realized how many windows there were in this place. I want to move you to a safe house. Somewhere it'll be easier to watch. Both you and Stephen."

William couldn't hide his amusement at his son's surprise when he agreed to the move. Chuckling, he asked, "When do I have to be ready?"

"Pack fast and light, Dad. The sooner you two are tucked away and safe, the better I'm going to feel."

Nodding, Ellison's father headed for the staircase. Stopping at the bottom step, he paused. "Jim? What about you? Are you safe? Shouldn't you be staying with us?"

"I don't seem to be the target, Dad. He's after my family." His father seemed to accept that and continued to the second floor. "The bastard knows how to really hurt me." The last words were barely a whisper but he immediately felt his partner's hand on his back. Drawing strength from the touch, he finally voiced the fear that was eating away at him. "I'm afraid that someone I love is going to die because of me."

"It's not going to happen, Jim." The sentinel's despondency pulled at the anthropologist. He hated to see the fear and guilt that had begun to haunt his friend's expression. "You'll find him first."

"Thanks Blair." Jim gave the younger man a sad smile. "Just don't make promises I can't keep.

The gentle roar of a lawnmower three houses down from the Ellison home was the only sign of life on the old treed street. A large man pushed the machine across the thick, green carpet of grass nearly dwarfing it with his size, thigh and calf muscles strained against the faded denim jeans. A walkman swung against his hip, the headset worn over top a black baseball cap. As he followed a straight path across the lawn his long strides slowed and a hand went up to one ear. The short sleeve of the sweat drenched t-shirt pulled back to reveal the vivid tattoo of a grinning skull. Listening intently, a smile almost warmed the coldness of his grey eyes.

"I never realized how many windows there were in this place. I want to move you to a safe house. Somewhere it'll be easier to watch. Both you and Stephen."

"Got ya on the run, do I Jimmy boy?" A satisfied grin crossed the tanned features. "That'll just add to the fun."

With a new bounce to his gait, he quickly finished the last strip of lawn left to mow. Dragging the mower to the back of his van, he pulled open the double doors and lifted the machine inside. Before locking up, he tossed the "For Sale" sign over the short privet hedge and back onto the lawn where he had found it. Patience had paid off. He had known that Ellison would go to his father. Now it would only be a matter of waiting for the right time. Another one of the cop's family would go down. This time right in front of his face.

"A real Kodak moment, Ellison." Climbing into the driver's side of the van and checking that his rifle was still stowed out of sight but easily accessible, the subject of Jim Ellison's nightmares turned the key in the ignition and pulled out onto the street.

Packing the last of the things he thought he would need, William Ellison pulled the zipper closed on the suitcase. He could feel his heart pounding against his ribs and tried to control his panic. Now that he was alone he could admit to himself that he was scared. His son thought that there was someone out there who wanted to see him dead. A faceless enemy. He had never been a part of Jim's police life or army career. They had parted ways long before that. The violence of his son's world had never occurred to him. These were things that he read about in the newspaper or watched on television before going to bed. Snipers were characters in suspense novels not real threats that suddenly turned your life upside down. Was he so naive to believe that the fear and violence that existed would never touch him?

Fear. Fear made a person do stupid things. Fighting with Jim about police protection, that had been stupid. The only reason he could give for his stupidity was fear. To admit that he needed protecting meant that a threat existed. If that threat existed for him then it also existed for his sons. And it was for them that he feared the most. Why had it taken up until now to realize that this was the world in which his oldest son lived? He should have been afraid all along.

"Dad?" Jim stood in the doorway of the bedroom, not daring to enter a place that had always been labeled off limits unless invited. "Are you okay? Just about packed?"

"Yeah..." Looking around the room, the older man drew a shaky breath. "I think I have everything I need." He bent down to pick up his suitcase but found his son's hand already wrapped around the handle. The eyes that gazed into his weren't so different from the young man that had walked away from his home so many years ago. They still held the same guarded expression as if waiting for the next disappointment or hurt. Clearing his throat, William decided that this might be the time to erase some of the disillusionment he was responsible for. "Jim..."

The detective slowly straightened, waiting for his father to continue. The emotions that had played across the older man's features were almost impossible to read. But his father just stood there, seemingly at a loss of words. He wanted to say something to put him at ease but couldn't seem to find words of his own. He smiled ruefully, thinking that the two of them were a great pair.

Ellison's father finally gave up trying to find the right words and hoped that actions would speak for themselves. The movement was awkward after many years apart but the older man threw his arms around his son, drawing him into a tight hug. He wasn't sure what Jim's reaction would be but hoped that his intentions would be understood. Seconds later he was rewarded as he felt an arm come around his shoulders and give them a quick but gentle squeeze.

"Dad? Dad? You okay?" The detective stepped back to look at his father, his thoughts a jumbled mess of emotion.

Smiling, the older man nodded. "Yes, fine. I...I just wanted you to know that I'm glad you're here." He blinked back against the moisture in his eyes. "It means a lot to me that you are."

"C'mon Dad," Jim said warmly, his arm once again lying across his father's shoulders. "They're waiting for us downstairs."

There were two exits from the two-storey Ellison home onto the street. Carefully setting up the tripod, the sniper eased the rifle into it. He rested his elbows on the soft soil of the cedar bed that hid his position and bided his time. Patience was one of his strongest virtues. Closing his eyes, he breathed in the strong woodsy fragrance of the tall shrubs, thinking ahead to the forest retreat that awaited him once the job was completed.

He had had no problem getting to the yard that would give him the best vantage point. William Ellison lived in a rich neighbourhood. Not rich enough for the guarded gate communities that seemed to be popping up, but rich enough that it was deserted during the day. People were either off vacationing or working to pay for those vacations. He had seen the window stickers announcing that the homes were protected by one security company or another. And maybe they were, but he knew how inadequate that really was. The false belief that money could buy you everything, including safety, had made this job that much easier.

Movement across the street caught his eye. Resting the stock of the rifle against his shoulder, he used the telescopic sight to get a better view. The large garage door slowly opened to reveal a late model truck that he recognized as the cop's and a black limousine with smoked windows. Grinning in anticipation, the shooter realized that Ellison wanted to play the shell game.

"Well, well. Now if I were you Jim, which one would I stick Dad in?" He watched as the truck pulled out and started down the long driveway. "Nope, don't think so." He trained his sights on the limo. But something made him look once again at the truck. The driver of the truck wore a dark coloured Jags jacket with a baseball cap pulled down low over his brow. The passenger was a grey haired man, mustached and wearing dark glasses. "Nah, you wouldn't make it that easy for me would you, Jimmy? Hiding dear old Dad in plain sight?"

Chuckling to himself, he swung the rifle back to the limo. "No of course you wouldn't. But nice try. Gotta give ya points for that." His finger slowly caressed the trigger of the rifle, hesitating ever so slightly. He'd get maybe one or two shots before things would become too hot to remain where he was. The couple of shots had to count. "Betcha those windows are bullet-proofed too. So how do I get daddy out of the car?" An unpleasant grin creased his face as he found the solution to his problem. "Just one way to do it."

The rifle suddenly moved back to the truck that had just left the driveway and was turning onto the street. Picking his target carefully, he squeezed the trigger. Two rounds were released, shredding the driver's side tires of the old Ford. The driver of the pickup fought with the wheel but couldn't regain control. The blown out tires sent the truck onto the sidewalk and careening dangerously close to a telephone pole. With one hard tug on the steering wheel the driver managed to change its course enough so the truck only glanced solidly off the pole. The added momentum finally tipped the vehicle onto its side as it skidded to a noisy halt a few yards up the street.

Silence and stillness were a sharp contrast to the ear piercing scream of metal against the paved road. The sniper watched, holding his breath. It would all happen fairly quickly now if his plan was a good one. As if on cue, the limousine rolled to a stop not far from the wreck and the rear passenger door opened. A grey haired individual broke away from arms that were restraining him and ran to the truck.

"Jim!" The agonized wail could be heard over the shouts of the other passengers in the limousine. "Oh my God! Jim!"

"Time to bring the old guy down," the shooter sneered. "Sorry Jimmy, I had really hoped you'd be awake to see this." The rifle bucked against his shoulder and he watched as his quarry dropped to the pavement.

The world had finally stopped spinning but now stood at a very strange angle. With a groan Jim Ellison began to take inventory of his surroundings. His head pounded mercilessly and he didn't think he'd be able to visualize the dials to reduce the pain to a manageable level. The reason why he was on his side in the truck eluded him but at least he had landed on something soft. He let his eyes slowly close, content to take refuge in sleep or unconsciousness. It didn't seem to matter which as long as it stopped the horrible throbbing in his head. He'd have to get Blair to help him with those dials again.



Memory flooded his brain, driving away the headache. With a start he realized the soft cushion he had landed on was his partner. Blair lay unmoving beneath him. The kid had been driving the truck when the world had unexpectedly spun out of control. He remembered the gunshots. There had been two of them. Had Blair been hit?

Carefully maneuvering himself off of his friend, Jim gave his guide a cursory check. His breathing and pulse seemed okay but he couldn't rouse him. He couldn't see or smell any blood. Listening again, he reassured himself that Blair's breathing was unhampered. That's when he heard it. His father's frantic calls for him. But his dad should have been out of danger's way. The car he was in was bulletproofed, the windows and body were reinforced to withstand almost any assault. Procedure dictated that the other car would continue to its destination regardless of any obstacles. Why was his father not on his way to the safe house?

Propping himself against the dashboard and steering wheel, the detective managed to stand and gain enough leverage to attempt opening the passenger door of the truck. With a shove that had bruised muscles screaming in protest, he slammed his shoulder against it. The door held fast, wedged firmly shut when the truck had collided with the telephone pole. With a roar of frustration he pushed at it once more and felt it give way. If only slightly.

The crack of rifle fire stopped his third attempt. Panicked shouts and return fire followed, driving the sentinel into a renewed frenzy. Mustering every ounce of strength he had, he forced the door open and quickly hoisted himself out of the truck. His father lay face down surrounded by a small group of plainclothes and uniformed police. None of the careful planning had saved his father from the sniper's bullet.

Joel Taggart was the first to break away from the group. Running to the truck, his relief was obvious at seeing his friend emerge relatively unharmed.

"Jim," the captain's voice was strained. "Your father's alive. The bullet caught him in the lower back. Ambulance is on its way." He helped Ellison down to the street and looked back, waiting for the police observer to follow his partner out of the truck.

"He's out cold, Joel." The detective was torn in two. He had to see how his father was but didn't want to leave his friend's side. "Stay with him." At Taggart's nod, he went to his father. The shrill keen of sirens were already sounding in the distance.

Part Two