Many thanks to my beta readers Kathy and Wendy, for their help on my first fanfic. Please send feedback to LSuther569@aol.com
PG, for a little violence.
DISCLAIMER: Jim, Blair, Simon, and the Sentinel universe are owned by Pet Fly Productions, UPN and Paramount. I am just taking them out for a little exercise between episodes. No copyright infringement is intended and no money has changed hands.
Laurie Borealis
Late at night in the dark and cavernous basement of Rainier University's Anthropology Building, Blair Sandburg huddled over a table in a small pool of light. Old wooden cabinets filled with artifacts surrounded him, and an Alaskan kayak was suspended from the ceiling over his head. Long dark curls fell forward around his face as he leaned over to examine the small ceramic figure of a dog.
Suddenly a door behind him flew open with a bang, and he turned around with a start.
"Blair, are you in here?" an imperious voice demanded.
"Julius? I'm here. You about gave me a heart attack, though. I almost dropped this little dog."
Julius Caesar Jaricoe, Senior Curator of the University's Museum of Anthropology, strode forward through the semi-darkness and stood frowning down at Blair. He was an imposing figure, six feet tall with a mane of gray hair and a supercilious expression.
"How are you coming with the exhibit?"
"Great!" Blair smiled up at him enthusiastically. "Except there's too much to choose from. It's hard to decide which ones to show. I had no idea we had so many wonderful things hidden away down here, Julius. Look at this great Zapotec dog wearing a necklace. And have you seen this incredible flute shaped like a bat? When you blow into it the bat hangs upside down in a very bat-like way."
Jaricoe sniffed. "This exhibit is just pandering to the masses who want to see cute little animals. What are you calling it? 'Pre-Columbian Doggies and Kitties' or something?" He looked down his nose at Blair and smirked.
Blair's face fell. "It's 'Animals in Pre-Columbian Art', Julius. The Director approved the idea. And anyway, I don't see why it's pandering to have an exhibit that will appeal to a lot of people. If it earns money or attracts donors you'll have more to spend on new purchases."
"Well, show me what you've got, but hurry up. I need to get out of here."
"Okay, but remember this is only the first cut." Blair showed him what he'd chosen so far.
Jaricoe glanced over the objects. "Take out the frog pendant, the duck effigy and the alligator breastplate."
"Why?"
"Because I'm the curator and you're just the grad student. Because they're cliched. Because they're poor examples of the styles. You've got plenty of others, Blair. Show me the final group when you're ready."
"Of course."
The man turned and stalked out, slamming the door behind him. Blair looked at the three rejects, all made of gold. He picked up the breastplate. "An anthropomorphic alligator god is cliched?" he muttered. He looked more closely at it, then compared it to another gold breastplate, and examined the rejected frog and duck carefully. All three were a smooth, rather brassy-toned gold. The other gold pectoral seemed to have a much richer patina, and was not smooth, but covered with hundreds of small hammer marks. There was some other difference between them, too, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Blair sighed, suddenly tired. He carefully covered the artifacts, locked the door and went home.
When Blair got back to the loft, Jim was slouched on the couch in a baby-blue terry cloth bathrobe, watching his favorite buddy cop show on TV and munching potato chips. Blair threw down his pack and his jacket, got himself a beer, and sat down beside him, shaking his head. "I can't believe you don't get enough of this cop stuff at work, Detective Ellison."
Jim ignored him. "Hot date?" he asked, tossing another chip in his mouth.
"No, I was working on the exhibit. It's coming together, but there's this guy on my case, Julius Jaricoe. He's the Senior Curator for Pre-Columbian Art and an arrogant jerk. He did something kind of strange tonight, though. He looked over the things I'm considering for the exhibit, just glanced at them, really, and ordered me not to show three of them. His excuse was totally lame, but I think there is actually something different about them."
"Different? What do you mean?" Jim scooped questing fingers into the bottom of the bag of chips and raised the last salty little pieces to his mouth.
"I don't know," Blair said, considering. "I was wondering if you would come look at them with me tomorrow morning. I know you're not an art expert, but I think with your senses you might be able to see something that I can't. Besides, I'd really like to give you a preview of the exhibit and see what you think of my choices."
"Sure, Chief, I'll give it a try." Jim's attention was drawn back to the TV show. "Hey! Don't go in that dark basement without your gun! Boy, they never learn, do they?"
Jim looked down at the menagerie of animals that Blair had laid out on the table in front of them: pottery frogs, stone parrots, golden deer, bowls covered with jaguars, llamas, and eagles. Blair carefully lifted up a cylindrical vessel painted with monkeys and hieroglyphs. "This was made about 600 AD, and was used for cocoa, or the Pre-Columbian version of cocoa, and it even has a little residue in the bottom. Smell it, Jim. It's very faint, but it smells like chocolate."
Jim smelled. "It's not so faint, Sandburg."
Blair looked excited. "Jim, I wonder if you could smell anything else on these artifacts that's too faded for the rest of us to recognize. Let's test it." He picked up a stone vessel shaped like a llama and held it under Jim's nose.
Jim grimaced. "Rancid fat and blood."
Blair put his own nose into the vessel. "I can't smell anything, but it was used by the Incas to present offerings of llama fat and blood to the gods." He set it down and picked up a large jar covered with painted lizards. "How about this one?"
Jim inhaled. "Something fermented. Beer?"
"Chicha. A drink made from fermented manioc."
Next, Blair picked a green stone pipe in the shape of a bird. "Here's an easy one."
Jim sniffed. "It's ashes, of course, but not tobacco. Nasty herbs."
Blair read the description of the object. "You're right. It says this was probably used for psychoactive snuff by a shaman in a ritual that would enable him to travel to another world. Smells bad, huh?"
"Yeah, Chief. I'd advise you not to smoke it, whatever it is." He picked up a ceramic frog and sniffed at the hole in its back. "This is pretty bad too."
"Toad venom."
Jim set it down quickly.
"How about that metate?" Blair pointed to a large carved stone jaguar standing solidly on four paws in the middle of the floor. It was about a foot high and two feet wide and its back had been carved into an oval dish. Jim knelt down.
"Corn. Herbs or plants, different kinds."
"That makes sense. Metates were usually used for grinding corn, but fancy ones like this could also be used for preparing drugs."
"Give me something harder."
"Okay, wise guy, do you get any reading from this?" Blair handed Jim a square hammered gold breastplate covered with the raised figures of warriors, jaguars, and mysterious deities.
Jim ran his sensitive fingers over the golden surface. He raised it to his nose and slowly smelled every inch, front and back. "It's complex. Leather. Sweat. Beneath that, something acid, and charcoal, and here, by this small hole, blood."
Blair's blue eyes lit up with excitement. "Acid and charcoal and maybe leather would have been used in making it. The person wearing it may have worn it over leather too. I would guess a sweaty warrior wore this pectoral in battle. The hole is probably where a weapon pierced it. Now smell this other pectoral, the one that Julius told me not to show. It's supposed to be from about the same place and time as the other one."
Jim set it down and picked up the alligator breastplate, holding it under his nose. He sniffed once briefly, then gasped and thrust it away, coughing. Blair took it from him in alarm. "What is it, Jim? What's wrong?"
"It makes me dizzy and it hurts my nose and throat, that's what's wrong." He coughed again harshly. "It smells like bitter almonds."
"Cyanide?" Blair breathed.
"Yes, and I'd better be careful not to get too close. That stuff is lethal. It's faint, but definite, and it might affect me more than you." He coughed again.
"Jim, you know what this means? It means it's a fake. Cyanide is used in a technique the Incas couldn't have known about: electroplating. My Uncle Bernie, the jeweler, told me about it. You put something metal in a bath of cyanide and gold, add electric current, and the gold attaches to the metal. Then you rinse like crazy, but enough cyanide got left here for you to pick up. This is modern. Nicely done, but modern."
Jim gingerly picked up the gold frog and then the duck, keeping them at arm's length and sniffing very lightly. "These smell of cyanide, too." His fingers explored the surface of the duck and his vision narrowed microscopically. Then he compared it to other gold artifacts. "The surface of this duck is as smooth and glossy as a hood ornament. The old ones have minute scratches."
"That's probably from being burnished with primitive tools," Blair said. "I'm going to check the provenance." He rooted through a file drawer until he found papers detailing the sale of the three items. "Well, this is interesting. They were all bought, at different times, by my pal Julius from a local dealer, Luis Quintero. What do you say we go visit him?"
Half an hour later, Jim and Blair walked into Luis Quintero's exclusive shop. Pre-Columbian artifacts were artistically displayed under special lighting in several locked glass cases. They began to look around, but almost immediately a dark and dapper man emerged from a room behind the gallery, smiling thinly. "Can I help you, gentlemen?"
"Yes," Blair said. "I'm interested in gold."
"Indeed. You do realize that we deal in antiquities, and they can be rather expensive. There's a nice import shop down the street that might meet your needs better." The man smiled again politely, and began to turn around.
"I do understand, and I'd like to see what you have, please. I'm a buyer for a wealthy individual who wishes to remain anonymous."
The man smiled more broadly now. "Certainly, sir. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Luis Quintero, dealer in antiquities. Please allow me to check my inventory in the back." He disappeared into the other room, while Jim and Blair began to look more carefully at the pieces in the glass cabinets.
Jim stopped in front of one piece, a painted ceramic lidded bowl with a curious figure on the top, a jaguar and a man joined back to back. "Sandburg," he whispered, "look at this."
Blair looked at the bowl and then smiled at Jim. "It's a Maya transformation figure, showing a man transforming himself into a jaguar. Beautiful, isn't it?"
Jim seemed transfixed. When Quintero returned with a number of gold artifacts, he asked him if he could see the pottery figure more closely. He gently ran his fingers over the outside, then removed the lid. He lifted the bowl to his nose and smiled like he was inhaling the aroma of a fine wine.
Quintero looked quizzically at Jim. "It was probably used to hold herbs or drugs for some ritual," he said. "But I'm sure the odor is all gone by now."
"Oh, mostly."
As the dealer uncovered each artifact for inspection, Blair examined them and handed them on to Jim. The detective held each of them carefully at a distance and sniffed delicately. "My assistant has a very good eye," Blair said.
"And nose," Quintero added, looking puzzled.
"That's just one of his idiosyncrasies. It helps him to focus," Blair said. "Our employer relies on him completely."
Jim coughed, looking sideways at Blair.
When they'd inspected the lot, Blair told the dealer that they'd get back to him if their employer wanted to buy something. After they went out the front door of the shop, another man stepped into the gallery from the room in the back. "What's their game?" he murmured. It was Julius Caesar Jaricoe.
Jim and Blair climbed back into the Expedition and sat there a minute. Jim blew his nose and reached for a cough drop. "I couldn't take too much more of that cyanide, Chief, even at arm's length. About half of what he showed us was modern."
"So what does that mean? Does Luis Quintero know they're forgeries, or is someone fooling him? Does Julius know? They're very good copies. But Julius knew something was wrong, or he wouldn't have pulled those pieces from the exhibit."
"I think your curator is a crook."
"I think so too. But I don't think your nose is going to stand up in court, so to speak. Jim, I know you need to get down to the station, so take me back to campus. I'll see if I can find an authentication expert who could look at them, and I'll make copies of the documentation for those pieces. I really need to put in some more work on the exhibit too."
"Okay, buckle up, Sherlock."
Late that afternoon, Jim was finishing some paperwork at his desk when Simon called him in to his office. The aroma of Hazelnut Blend coffee permeated the room, and Jim wrinkled his nose. "Whoa, that's strong."
"It's 'a mild blend to soothe your cares away,' Jim". He took a sip of it out of his mug. "Looks like we have a murder, an art dealer by the name of Quintero. Could you get over there?"
"Quintero? Luis Quintero? I was just over at his shop this morning with Sandburg. The guy may have been involved in art forgeries, and we were checking him out."
"Then maybe you have a lead. Get Sandburg on it too." Simon lifted his mug and used it to motion Jim out the door.
Jim called Blair on his cell phone, but there was no answer. He decided he'd better get over to the crime scene now, and try to phone Blair again later.
After Jim dropped him off at the university, Blair headed for his office. A student caught up with him just as he was opening the door, and asked if he could talk to him about an assignment. Blair invited him inside, and tossed his pack down on a spare chair. When the student left, he went down to the basement to work on the exhibit. His pack, with the cell phone in it, remained forgotten on the chair.
Some time later, Blair surveyed the artifacts covering the table in front of him with satisfaction, absently pushing his wayward curls behind his ears. He'd just about decided which ones to display, and was beginning to get excited at the thought of acquainting people with these wonderful things. He was so engrossed he didn't notice when Julius Jaricoe opened the door and walked in.
"All alone, Blair?" Jaricoe inquired. The light coming through the door silhouetted his tall figure.
Blair jumped. "Hey, Julius. Um, I've got the final exhibit choices for you to okay. Want to look at them now?"
"Yes, Blair, I'll look at them now." He moved through the late-afternoon gloom of the basement into the brighter area where Blair was working.
Under the lights, Blair could see that the man looked haggard. "Are you okay?"
"Yes, I'm fine. Show me what you have."
Blair turned around and gestured toward the artifacts on the table. "I'm not sure whether to arrange them by culture, by animal, by function, or what. Maybe you could give me some advice." He didn't see Jaricoe pick up a heavy gold beaker. He didn't see the expression of hate on the curator's face. He only felt the explosion of pain in his head as he fell forward over the table, and then he felt nothing as he slipped bonelessly to the floor.
Jim looked down at Quintero's body, which lay sprawled in the back room of his elegant shop, the elaborate hilt of a golden knife protruding from his back. Jim remembered the design as an Inca artifact that the man had shown them only this morning. A regular customer had discovered the dealer's body when he found the front of the store deserted and went looking for him. Jim frowned, wondering if their visit was connected in any way to the murder. But Quintero hadn't known who they really were. Maybe it was coincidence. He called Blair again, but there was still no answer. He fought back the feeling of unease. Everything was probably fine, but perhaps he should just go over to the University anyway. Perhaps he would. He ran to the Expedition.
Blair's cheek was cold. He tried to lift it off the chilly cement floor, but his head hurt too much. He tried to move his arms and legs, but discovered that his arms were tied tightly behind his back, and his ankles were bound together as well. He gasped, and heard a voice above him say, "Welcome back, Blair. Why don't you just lie still? I'd really like to ask you a few questions."
Blair simply couldn't face opening his eyes. His head was swimming. "Julius, what are you doing? You don't want to do this, man," he pleaded weakly.
"Oh, yes I do want to do this. You've ruined it all, you little hippie punk. We had a great thing going for years, and nobody ever suspected anything until you. You went to see Quintero and you looked at all his gold. You figured something out, didn't you? What do you think you know? Have you told anyone?"
"I don't know what you mean."
"Oh, yes you do, and you're going to tell me."
Blair tried to call out for help.
Jaricoe laughed. "Nobody's going to hear you way down here. Everybody's gone home, anyway, but I've locked the door just in case. We are free to have a private conversation. Now tell me, who was that person with you at Quintero's? Is he a cop?"
"He's my friend. He's interested in Pre-Columbian art."
"You're lying." Jaricoe grabbed Blair's bound wrists and yanked them up behind him, making him gasp.
"Tell me the truth, now." The curator kept his grip on Blair's wrists, and began to drag him across the floor. Blair fought uselessly. He thought his arms were going to be pulled out of their sockets. He opened his eyes a little, but everything was blurry. Jaricoe dragged him over to the table, and picked up a gold knife lying on it. "Did you know that the Aztecs cut out the hearts of their prisoners with these knives? Shall I do that to you? A little archaeological experiment?" He laughed crazily and, twisting Blair around, pushed him down on his back over the jaguar metate. Through bleary eyes, his head pounding, Blair saw the tall figure leaning over him and waving a gold ceremonial knife. It didn't look very sharp, but it looked sharp enough.
Blair was bent backwards over the grinding stone, his arms pinned under him, unable to get his balance. His chest and throat were raised vulnerably to his captor and he felt his heart beating wildly in terror as he struggled to get free. "Julius, no, please don't do this, please." He had a sudden horrible vision of the curator standing over his dead body like an ancient warrior, raising his still-beating heart high in triumph.
A loud knock at the door startled them both. "Sandburg!" Jim shouted, as he tried vainly to open the lock. "Are you in there? Are you all right?"
Before Blair could call out, Jaricoe punched him and he fell back, unconscious. The curator dragged him quickly into a storeroom and closed the door behind them. Hastily, he took off his tie and gagged his prisoner with it, then shoved him into a closet and shut the door. He went back out to the main room, closing the storeroom door behind him as well, just as Jim broke down the front door. Seeing Jaricoe, he stopped short. "Where's Sandburg?"
Jaricoe was breathing hard. "He left."
"When? Who are you?"
"I'm a curator here, Julius Jaricoe."
In the small silence that followed, Jim heard the beating of his Guide's heart and his muffled breathing. He stepped cautiously towards Jaricoe, then noticed something small and gold gleaming in his hand. The man suddenly rushed at him. Jim sidestepped him and grabbed his wrist. The knife fell to the floor. Jim quickly pulled out his gun and held it on him as he handcuffed him to an exposed pipe on the wall. "I asked you where Sandburg was." Jaricoe didn't answer. Jim got out his cell phone and called for backup.
Jaricoe sat on the floor, quiet now. "It was such a beautiful deal," he said sadly. "Quintero's guy made the stuff, pieces so good nobody ever suspected. I just didn't want them to be exhibited. Somebody might look too carefully." He laughed. "We buy so much that never even gets displayed. It could be buried down here forever."
Jim opened the storeroom door and followed the sound of the heartbeat to the closet. When he opened the closet door a small form huddled on its side in the darkness moaned and frantically tried to scrabble away from him. He knelt down. "It's just me, Sandburg. It's all over. Come on, let's get you out of here." He gently pulled him from the closet, then removed the necktie from his mouth and untied his wrists and ankles. Blair opened unfocused eyes, then closed them again. When Jim raised him to a sitting position, Blair sagged against his shoulder. Jim steadied him with one arm.
"Are you okay, Chief?"
"My head hurts," he complained. Jim held him against his side and examined him with sensitive fingers. Blair winced and drew his breath in when he touched the place on the back of his head where Jaricoe had hit him with the beaker. He winced again when Jim touched the side of his face where a dark bruise was already starting to show. "Ow," he said. "Ow, ow, ow."
"Open your eyes for me, Sandburg," he commanded. Slowly, Blair complied. "How many fingers?" He held up two.
"Two? They're kind of fuzzy though."
"I think you'll be all right."
Blair leaned his head into Jim's shoulder as Jim massaged his numb wrists. "He was going to kill me," Blair said, trying to keep his voice steady.
Jim shook his head and looked down at his partner. "I've warned you about going into dark basements, Sandburg."
Two weeks later, the exhibit "Animals in Pre-Columbian Art" opened at Rainier University's Museum of Anthropology. Jim and Blair attended the opening night party looking quite dashing in their tuxedoes. The Director of the Museum gave a little speech, and Blair beamed with pride. At the end of the speech, the Director called Jim and Blair up to the podium.
"These two gentlemen have performed an outstanding service for the University, by discovering a case of fraud against the Museum. As many of you know, they are responsible for the arrest of our former Senior Curator, who had been making money on the side by selling us modern copies of Pre-Columbian gold artifacts. They accomplished this at some danger to themselves. The Museum would like to present Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg with these tokens of our appreciation."
The Director handed Blair the small figure of an owl with human hands, carved in blue-green jadeite. "We'd like you to have this Inca shaman pendant." Blair accepted it, his eyes shining. "And Jim, Blair picked this for you." He handed him the jaguar transformation bowl from Quintero's shop.
Jim took it carefully in his hands and lifted it to his nose.
"Jim," Blair inquired softly. "What exactly do you smell in that bowl?"
He smiled. "I smell the past."
THE END