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March 15, Monday

Blair Sandburg, doctoral student in Anthropology, police observer, and Sentinel's Guide, unlocked and entered the loft. Juggling a grocery sack and a handful of mail, he tossed his keys in the basket, gently kicked the door shut and placed his burden on the counter. Quickly shrugging out of his jacket and hanging it on a hook by the door, he picked up the mail and carried it to the table. On top of the stack was an official looking letter from Rainier University, where he was a teaching fellow and student. Ripping open the envelope and pulling out the paper, he quickly scanned the words. Yes! He bounced on his toes as his face lit with a grin. One of his ever-important grants had been approved. Blair set the letter down and picked up the stack of mail again, beginning to sort it into two piles. Those addressed to his loftmate and partner, Jim Ellison, police detective and Sentinel of the Great City, he put in one pile, his went in the other. Bill. Bill. Bill. Dept. of Anthropology, Rainier. He stopped to open this one as well. Another grant approval. The grad student bounced once again.

He continued through the stack. Junk. Junk. Junk. Bill. Bank statement. Junk. Bill. Hello? What's this? Blair looked at the small, white disk mailer with curiosity. It was addressed to Jim. That was strange. Jim left most of the computer work to him. With a lingering glance at the cardboard mailer, Blair returned to the kitchen, put the groceries away and began to work on supper.

About an hour later Blair heard the key in the lock. He looked up as Jim came in. "Hey, Jim," he greeted as the other man tossed his keys in the basket.

"Hey, Chief," was the affable response. "Smells good. Is that salmon?"

"Uh-huh. It's a salmon puff."

"Is that healthy, Chief?"

Blair grinned. "It's certainly healthier than Mr. Tube Steak or Wonder Burger." Jim smiled as he hung up his jacket. "It should be ready in about ten minutes." Blair got a single nod in answer, as the larger man moved to the table.

"What's this?" Jim asked, holding up the disk mailer.

Blair shrugged. "I don't know. It came in the mail." Curious about the package himself, he left the kitchen and came to stand across from his partner. Jim glanced up at him. "You sense anything?"

The Sentinel shook his head. "Although, whatever's in here isn't a disk. It doesn't feel right."

Blair watched as Jim opened the package and dumped the contents into his palm. A large coin fell out. Puzzled, the anthropologist looked up from the coin to Jim, hoping for some enlightenment. He was surprised to see the color drain from his friend's face, and horror reflected in Jim's blue eyes. "Jim?"

His voice broke the mini-zone or whatever it was. Abruptly Ellison dropped the coin as if scalded and headed toward the stairs.

"Jim?" he called again in concern. The other man didn't answer, just continued up the stairs to his room. Blair watched his friend disappear. With one last worried glance up to the bedroom loft, he looked down at the cause of Jim's distress. After a moment, he slipped his glasses on and picked up the coin. On the front, at the top the words "7TH SPECIAL FORCES GROUP (AIRBORNE)" were inscribed. Just below them were the words "1ST SPECIAL FORCES". At the bottom, in a stylized ribbon were the words, "ANYTHING ANYTIME ANYWHERE". In the center a large numeral seven was superimposed over what looked like a global satellite image of Central and South America. Three arrows pointed down on the leg of the numeral. Blair turned the coin over. At the top of the back, in a ribbon, were the words "DE OPPRESSO LIBER." To free the oppressed, his mind automatically translated. At the bottom, in another ribbon, were the words "WITH HONOR". In the center, a beret with flash rested atop an open scroll engraved with the name "C. Hickman, SFC." In tiny detail on the flash was a crest with two crossed arrows and a knife bisecting them.

Was it the name, or the coin itself that sent Jim running? Blair's eyes strayed back to the lower inscription. It sounded like a vow. A shiver coursed down his spine as the words etched themselves in his mind. There were probably no better words to describe how his friend conducted his life.

The oven timer dinged, startling him out of his thoughts. Casting another glance up at the bedroom loft, Blair went back to the kitchen. He turned the oven off and opened the oven door slightly so the meal would stay warm for a while. Quietly he finished up the dinner salads he'd been fixing when his partner came home, and set the table. When this activity failed to produce his partner, Blair sighed.

Gazing around the kitchen, he decided everything looked in order. The oven was off. The burners were off. Satisfied, Blair glanced up at the loft again. Pursing his lips as he considered his next move, he decided he'd left Jim alone long enough. He took a deep, calming breath, let it out slowly, and headed toward the stairs.

He ascended them quietly. When his head drew even with the railing, he looked for his partner. He spotted him sitting on the edge of his bed, forearms on knees, gazing intently at something he held in his hands. Blair let out the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding, and climbed up the last few steps. "Jim? You okay?" he murmured. He was relieved when he got a slight nod. The Sentinel hadn't zoned at least.

Still moving quietly, Blair crossed the intervening space to the bed, and cautiously sat down beside his friend. He looked at what Jim was holding, not surprised to see it was a coin. Tentatively, he held out his hand, mutely asking permission. After a moment, Jim sighed deeply, and placed the coin in his palm. Blair flashed him an encouraging smile, but the older man was now staring at the floor. He accepted that as he reached for the glasses in his pocket. Once he had them on, he studied the object in his hand. It seemed identical to the one still on their dining room table. He flipped it over. The name engraved on the scroll was "J. Ellison, CPT." He raised his head to look at Jim, and found the other man's focus back on the coin. Jim raised his eyes to meet Blair's. A small, wry smile greeted his questioning gaze.

"Practically every Special Forces unit has a group coin. It's looked at as a way to check and maintain Esprit de Corps. Every soldier carries his with him at all times." Jim chuckled in sad amusement. "If he's caught without it when a coin check is called, he gets to buy a round of drinks for everyone. That's the modern usage." He gently retrieved the coin from Blair's hands.

Blair watched for a moment while his partner fingered the coin, his thoughts obviously a long way away. He laid a hand on Jim's shoulder, squeezing gently. "This is bringing up some stuff, isn't it?" And the anniversary of the crash was yesterday. Coincidence? I don't think so.

Jim swallowed. "Yeah."

Softly. "Will you explain it to me?"

"Explain what?"

"The coin, man. Will you explain what's on it?"

Now Jim's lips twitched, and Blair smiled hopefully. Jim pointed to the inscription on the front. "This is the unit designation. The Seventh Special Forces Group handles missions to Central and South America. Mainly covert. Anti-terrorism, enemy interdiction, native forces training, aiding and protecting indigenous peoples."

"Like what you were doing with the Chopec?" Blair interrupted, amazed. This was the most information he'd ever gotten out of Jim regarding his Army career.

Jim's jaw clenched, and he feared his partner was going to clam up. To his relief, the jaw relaxed, and Jim nodded. "Yeah. We were sent in to protect the Chopec from enemy activities in the area."

Silence fell for a moment, then Jim seemed to shake himself and continued with the explanation. "The Seventh is part of the First Special Forces Division. The number seven over Central and South America symbolizes our sphere of operations and the importance the Seventh has down there. 'Anytime. Anything. Anywhere.' is our group motto. It simply means we're ready anytime to do anything and go anywhere."

"Pretty self-explanatory, huh?" Blair quipped.

Jim grunted in agreement, flipping the coin over. "'De Oppresso Liber' -- To Free the Oppressed, is the motto of Special Forces. You can't tell it on the coin, but our beret flash is red with no embellishing. The crest on the flash is the crest of Special Forces. The crossed arrows symbolize the SF's role in unconventional warfare. The knife, used by the American Indian, symbolizes the qualities of an SF soldier -- straight, true, silent, and deadly. There's a stylized ribbon that frames it, with the words 'De Oppresso Liber' at the bottom." Jim stopped, staring at the center of the coin. Just when Blair thought to press him, he continued, "The scroll is for the name or specialty of the individual who owns it. 'WITH HONOR' is kind of a personal motto. Kind of an individual reminder."

Blair chuckled softly.

Jim raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"I was thinking downstairs that there were probably no two words that better described how you conduct yourself."

Ellison stiffened for a moment, and Blair wondered what he'd said wrong. Finally, Jim shrugged, nodding acceptance. "There are some who might argue that with you, professor. But I try."

"You do a damn fine job of it, too," Blair said adamantly, determined to make his partner see his self-worth.

Jim's lips twitched, but he didn't quite smile.

"Who's C. Hickman?" When he saw the pain and guilt flash across Jim's face, Blair was sorry he'd asked. He was preparing to apologize, when his friend spoke again.

"Charlie Hickman, Sergeant First Class," came the whispered answer. "He was my communications officer."

Blair inhaled sharply, immediately picking up on what Jim hadn't said. "Peru?"

Jim nodded.

"Oh, man," Blair said contritely, squeezing Jim's shoulder a little tighter. I knew it couldn't be a coincidence.

There was silence for several heartbeats. Finally, Jim raised a hand to cup Blair's neck. "I'm hungry, Chief. Dinner ready?"

Blair grinned, appreciating his partner's effort. "Yeah, Jim. Dinner's ready. Let's eat."

Downstairs, the anthropologist set the food on the table while the detective got them each a beer. They sat down to eat. Blair watched in amusement as Jim gave the salmon the scent test, then cautiously took a bite. This was something his Sentinel always did when he introduced a new recipe. It had been a long time since he'd fixed anything the other man couldn't handle, but he always took the precaution nevertheless. Blair wasn't offended. With his friend's hyper-senses it was always better to be extra cautious with a new food than to regret it later.

"This is pretty good, Chief. Something new to add to the collection," Jim said with a genuine smile.

"Good. I'm glad you like it." Their conversation was light and sporadic, interspersed with companionable silences. At one point, Sandburg's curiosity won out and he asked, "So, how'd that end up here? Any idea?"

"No. The coins would have been placed with their personal effects once the bodies were retrieved." Jim nodded toward the coin on the other end of the table. "That should have gone to Hickman's family."

"Maybe somebody found it, and sent it to you, figuring you could get it back to Hickman's family?" Blair ventured, though he wasn't convinced.

"Whoever sent this must know about my last mission to Peru. Know about what happened. Know that Hickman was one of my men. Know yesterday was the anniversary of the crash."

Blair grimaced at this observation, having hoped Jim wouldn't remember the date. He should have known better. "Jim, I know about your last mission to Peru, remember? Your story was in "News Update" after they rescued you. The article named the men who had died."

The older man nodded, swallowing. "Yeah, but after ten plus years, do you remember their names?" he asked thickly.

"Point," Blair admitted. "Oh, hey, two of my grants have been approved. I received the letters today."

"That's great, Chief." Jim gratefully accepted the change to a lighter topic. "Does that mean you'll be buying the groceries for a while?"

Blair rolled his eyes. "Funny, man. You are so not funny."

Ellison chuckled, finishing off his beer.

***

March 23, Tuesday

Another day almost over. Jim arrived home just as Blair was getting the mail. "Hey, man."

"Hey, Chief," the detective greeted him with a weary sigh.

Blair took a closer look at his friend, noting the creased forehead and squinting eyes. Headache. With a calm assuredness he wouldn't have displayed a few months ago, he gripped his Sentinel's elbow and gently steered him into the elevator. Still maintaining a light contact, the Guide spoke. "Okay, Jim. Do your breathing." When the big man had done that, almost instantly relaxing, Blair continued. "Good. Now, find the pain dial and turn it down a notch. Keep going until it's just tolerable. Don't erase it completely, pain reminds you there's something wrong. We'll work on the tension when we get upstairs."

Jim sighed in relief, smiling down at his partner. "Thanks, Chief. I've been trying to do that all afternoon, but only succeeded in getting it to five."

"Where's it at now?"

"Two."

"Oh, man, that must be some headache."

The elevator doors opened and they stepped off. As they walked to their door, Jim said, "I'll certainly be glad to get rid of it."

Blair nodded in sympathy as Jim allowed him to step inside first. He turned back around to face his partner as they each shrugged out of their jackets. Blair was still holding the mail and he had to shift it from one hand to the other. "Rough day? You should have called me. I thought we'd agreed, no more leaving me behind."

Jim held up his hands to fend off the flow of words. "Whoa, Chief. It was nothing like that." The older man stepped to the couch and sagged into the cushions. "My morning was filled with paperwork, and my afternoon with a deposition at the D.A.'s office. For four solid hours. The headache started soon after I started answering their stupid questions. I'm beat."

Blair set the mail temporarily on the table and went behind his friend. Placing his broad hands on either side of Jim's neck, he used his thumbs to gently knead a path from just behind Jim's ears down to where neck met shoulder. He heard the quiet exhalation of air, felt the slight relaxation in the broad shoulders, and smiled.

Several minutes later, Jim's soft voice broke the silence. "The pain's gone, Chief. Thank you."

Blair smiled, though Jim couldn't see it. He slid his hands onto his Sentinel's shoulders, patted them, then withdrew. "You're welcome, Jim. Any time," he said quietly. Blair moved back to the table, picked up the mail, and began to sort through it.

"Uh-oh."

"What?" Jim's head swiveled around from the couch to look.

With trepidation, Blair held up a white disk mailer. He silently groaned when he saw Jim's jaw muscles bulge and blue eyes turn to ice. The big man was off the couch and plucking the package out of his hands in an instant.

He waited anxiously as Jim simply stared at it, making no move to open it. Finally, taking a steadying breath, Ellison pulled the zip cord, and upturned the mailer. As expected, a coin fell into the big man's palm.

Blair exhaled softly. He looked up to see the jaw muscles doing their dance. He could almost see Jim's neck and shoulder muscles tighten, and he reached up a hand to his friend's shoulder. Jim closed his eyes for a moment, then silently reached out to flip the coin over. They read the name inscribed: "M. Johnson, SFC." The grad student waited for Jim's reaction, expecting an explosion, but instead felt his partner relax just slightly. "Jim?"

With a heavy sigh, the big man turned his gaze to Blair. "I don't know him, Chief. There was no Johnson in my group." Jim's voice was filled with a mixture of relief and confusion.

Blair furrowed his brow, equally confused. He reached for the coin. Jim didn't protest. Quickly slipping on his glasses, he studied the piece of metal. Everything but the name on the scroll was identical to the first coin received. "That's strange, man. Very strange. Why would someone send you a coin of someone you don't even know?"

Jim shook his head. "I don't know, but I have a bad feeling about this."

Blair grimaced. "Yeah."

Taking back the coin, studying it, Ellison said, "I think I'll make a couple of phone calls tomorrow. See what I can find out about who this belongs to. Right now, the only common denominator I see, is that we were all in the same unit."

"Who're you gonna call?"

Jim looked up at him now, giving him a crooked smile. "I still have a couple of contacts at Fort Bragg. They might be willing to give me some information."

***

Around two o'clock the next afternoon, Blair entered the bullpen. Returning a favor to a friend, he'd spent his morning at the University proctoring exams. Now it was time to help his partner. "Hi, Jim. How's it goin'?"

Jim looked up. "Hey. Just great. Paperwork and more paperwork."

Blair grinned, bouncing on his toes. "Well, I guess that's what I'm here for, huh? To rescue you from the dreaded paperwork monster."

Jim scooted his chair back and stood up, gesturing for Blair to take a seat. Before the police observer sat down, a familiar hand came to rest on his shoulder. He looked up into concerned blue eyes.

"You're here for more than just the paperwork, Chief. I hope you know that."

Blair was surprised by this unexpected reassurance and affirmation of their partnership. These coins must have him a little more rattled than I thought. He reached up and gripped the bigger man's arm. "Yeah, Jim. I do. Thanks."

Jim smiled faintly, squeezing Blair's shoulder before dropping his hand. The grad student flashed his friend an encouraging smile as he sat down. The detective took the chair beside the desk.

As he slipped his glasses on and opened the first folder, Blair asked, "Did you find out anything about the coin?"

Jim nodded, resting an elbow on the desk as he perused another file. "Yeah. Michael Johnson, age fifty. He retired from the Army two years ago."

"Anything else?" Blair sensed that his partner had learned something unsettling.

"His specialty was communications."

"The same as Hickman?"

Jim nodded again. "Yeah."

Blair chewed on the inside of his lip, lost in thought. Finally, he looked at his partner. "Coincidence?"

"Maybe, but do you think so?"

"No," he admitted. "Still no idea what this could be about?"

Jim sighed, sitting back in the chair. "No, but it seems like, whatever it is, it's personal."

Blair tilted his head in agreement, watching his partner. He could tell another tension headache was in the offing if he didn't do something to take Jim's mind off the mystery. Before he could say anything, however, his partner shrugged and shook his head.

"Well, the problem's not going anywhere. I guess we'll just have to wait and see. Why don't we get to work on these files?"

"Sounds fine to me. Jim?" When he had his friend's full attention, Blair leaned forward and placed a hand on Jim's forearm. "We'll figure this out."

Jim gave him a tiny smile, and patted his hand. "Yeah. We will." The detective went back to reading his file. Blair began typing up the report on the file in front of him.

***

April 1, Thursday

Blair worked late at the University. After his last class, he ensconced himself in his office to finish grading the tests he'd given the day before. He could have taken them home to finish, but since he only had a few remaining, Blair figured he could make short work of them and post the grades well ahead of the posting deadline. Around eight o'clock, just as he'd begun posting grades for the second half of his students, Blair was struck by an uneasy feeling that compelled him to hurry home.

Blair hadn't had the chance to fully analyze it, but he knew Sentinel and Guide were connected by some invisible cord. The connection had always been there, but after the events with an enemy named Alex Barnes nearly a year earlier, their bond had deepened and blossomed into an almost tangible thing. Alex had tried to break that bond, almost succeeding. In the end, the Guide and his chosen Sentinel had emerged intact and stronger for their ordeal. Jim was aware of the link, even listened to it when it resonated, but he preferred not to think about it. The metaphysical still unnerved him. Blair embraced the link, never ignoring its call. When he suddenly got the feeling something was wrong with his Sentinel, he obeyed. He quickly gathered his things, locked his office, and jumped in his car.

The feeling of unease increased as Blair approached the door to the loft. He wasn't experiencing the mind numbing fear he would if his Sentinel were in mortal danger, and for that he was thankful, but he was worried. When he opened the door, Blair found the living room lit only by the small lamp on the end table. His partner was sitting on the couch, fingering something shiny in one hand, and holding a beer in the other. The older man didn't acknowledge his presence. Blair took off his jacket and hung it on a hook. Quietly, he walked to the couch. As he down beside Jim, he could see what his friend was toying with.

Blair gasped softly. "Another one?"

Jim nodded, staring at the floor beyond his crossed ankles.

Blair laid a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. "Do you know this one?"

Again, Jim nodded. When he finally broke the silence, his voice was barely above a whisper. "Kelly Hill, Sergeant First Class. He was my medic. He made us all laugh. He had a wife and six-year-old daughter when we went to Peru." Jim's voice cracked. "He was so proud of her."

Blair's throat tightened. He, the man of many words, had none for this occasion. Instead, Blair did the only thing he could think to do. He placed an arm around Jim's shoulders and pulled the big man close. Jim came unresisting into the embrace. They sat that way for a long time. While Blair held his friend, he wondered who could be sending the coins, and about their purpose. The two coins belonging to the men of Jim's team were obviously meant to unsettle the former military man. Judging by his friend's current reaction, they were succeeding. But why the second coin? Jim didn't know that man. As Blair continued to think on it, his anger began to build. Jim had been through so much. The older man didn't deal well with his past, repressing much of it, including the tragic mission to Peru. Now, some person was apparently going to wage a psychological war with James Ellison. Blair was determined not to let his partner, his Sentinel, be lost to it. He would do whatever he could, whatever it took to help his friend.

Jim straightened, and Blair loosened his grip. "Chief?" Jim gently tapped his leg, and he looked up into questioning blue eyes. "What is it? Your heart's pounding like a trip hammer."

"This." Blair waved toward the offending coin. "I'm so mad. If this is someone's idea of an April Fool's joke, it's not funny! Who's doing this? Why are they tormenting you? I'm not going to let them get away with this. We're gonna find whoever this is and... and..."

"Easy, Chief, easy. Calm down."

Blair inhaled deeply, closing his eyes long enough to center himself. Opening them, he realized Jim was smiling at him. "Sorry. I guess I got a little carried away. It's just -- It's just that..."

"It's all right, buddy. I understand. I agree, the joke's not funny, but like you said, we're gonna figure this out." Jim switched the beer bottle to his other hand, and gave Blair's shoulder an encouraging squeeze. Hesitantly, he said, "Thanks for coming home. I know you had intended to stay late."

"Not a problem, man. You needed me."

Ellison simply smiled, then patted Blair's shoulder and got to his feet. "If you want, why don't you see if you can find a game or something? I'm gonna go hit the can, then change clothes."

Blair nodded, noticing Jim still had the coin. He watched as the big man deposited the empty bottle in the kitchen, and headed into the bathroom. Blair turned around and picked the remote up off the coffee table. Once he located the game, he went to the fridge and pulled out two more beers. When Jim rejoined him on the couch, the coin was nowhere in evidence. Blair assumed it had been tucked away with the others. A sudden thought occurred to him. "Jim, did you check the coins for fingerprints?" Blair felt the detective stiffen, and saw his jaw clench. Slowly, Jim's eyes turned to meet Blair's.

"No," Ellison whispered, obviously stunned by his oversight.

Blair swallowed. "Uh, we messed up, didn't we?"

Jim nodded stiffly, rubbing a hand over his face. "Damn."

There was silence for a long moment. Blair finally shrugged. "Well, unfortunately, there will probably be another one in the near future."

The detective grimaced, but nodded in agreement. Resolutely he turned his attention to the game, and Blair followed suit.

***

Blair came awake with a start. He lay silent for a moment, trying to figure out what had awakened him. Finally, he heard the faint creak of floorboards, and Jim's gasping breaths. Even as he strained his ears, the gasping stopped. He debated whether or not he should go see what was wrong, but something told him no, so he let Jim have his privacy.

He lay awake, staring up at the ceiling, listening for his friend's movements. Eventually, Blair heard the soft rustle of sheets, and the sound of a body lying back down. He didn't take his eyes off the ceiling. Finally, when Blair guessed his friend had gone back to sleep, he relaxed. With a quiet sigh, he rolled over.

The next thing Blair heard was his alarm going off and the sound of the shower. With a groan he slapped the switch and sat up. Elbows on knees, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. When he heard the water shut off he levered himself to his feet and began rummaging for clothes to wear.

"Morning, Chief. Your turn," his roommate called.

"Thanks." Blair emerged from his room and shuffled into the bathroom. Twenty minutes later, showered, shaved, and dressed, he joined Jim at the table. Blair reached for the coffee and took a sip, closing his eyes in appreciation. Setting the cup down, he dug into the plate of eggs before him.

They ate quietly for a while, content in each other's company. Blair finished his eggs and picked up his coffee again, looking at Jim. He noted the fatigue in the blue eyes and faint lines of tension in the face. The older man met his gaze quizzically. "What?"

Blair shrugged. "Nothing, man. You just look a little ragged this morning. Trouble sleeping?"

Reluctantly, the detective nodded. "Bad dream. It kept me up for a while."

Before Blair could question him, Jim held up a hand. "I don't want to get into it now, okay? It was just a dream."

Blair could see the unvoiced plea in Jim's blue eyes, and the stubborn set to his jaw. That alone told him there was more to it, but for the time being he'd abide by Jim's wishes. He nodded agreement, and saw his friend relax. "You'd tell me, if there was something really wrong, wouldn't you?"

Jim lowered his coffee mug, and met Blair's gaze. "Yes, Blair. I would, and I will. I remember our promise, Chief. No more trying to protect each other from our inner demons. From now on we discuss things that could be potential threats to 'us'."

Blair relaxed, smiling. "All right, then."

Jim returned the smile, and reached over to ruffle Blair's hair.

The younger man ducked. "Ah, man, not the hair." He swatted at Jim's hand.

Chuckling, the big man got up from the table and carried his plate to the kitchen. With a grin, Blair followed suit. After the few breakfast dishes were done, the two men grabbed their jackets and left the loft.

***

April 10, Saturday

The phone rang. With a groan, Blair unburied his head from under the covers. 7:00 AM. It was supposed to be their day off. Only one person would knowingly call this early and risk the Sentinel's ire. The phone rang again. This time he reached for the handset on his night table.

"'ello?"

"Sandburg?"

"Morning, Simon. What's up?"

"I need to speak to your partner. Murder's getting a jump start on the weekend."

"Okay. I think he's in the shower. I'll get him."

"I'm right here, Chief."

Blair looked blearily at the towel-wrapped figure standing in his doorway, and held the phone out to him. "Simon."

While Jim talked to the captain, Blair levered himself out of bed and propelled himself toward the bathroom. Jim swatted him playfully on the rear on his way by. Blair stifled a yelp of surprise, and slapped in the general direction of the Sentinel's arm. He heard a quiet chuckle follow him into the bathroom.

Blair emerged feeling more human. Scooting into his room, he quickly dressed, then joined his partner in the kitchen.

"Morning, Jim. What'd Simon have?"

"Morning, Chief. We just have time for a donut and bagel. A body's been discovered in a dumpster behind the steam plant. Simon wants us to check it out. From the sounds of it, it isn't pretty."

Blair arched an eyebrow. "Is any murder?"

Jim shrugged.

When they arrived, Rafe, Brown, and a forensics team were already there. Two uniforms were still in the process of putting up yellow tape. Blair got out of the Ford and followed his partner. Abruptly, Jim stopped, halting Blair with a hand placed on his chest. "Chief, it's going to be ugly."

Blair looked up questioningly, and saw the older man's pinched face and convulsive swallowing. The Guide fastened a hand to his Sentinel's arm. "Jim, dial it back. If you can't filter out whatever it is, dial it back until you can barely detect it. You can do it."

Several seconds passed. Blair watched as Jim took a tentative breath, then relaxed. Blair relaxed as well. "Thanks, Chief."

The younger man simply shrugged. "What is it?"

Jim grimaced, reluctant to answer. "Burnt flesh. The corpse has been burned."

Blair paled. "Oh, man."

His partner nodded, patting him on the back. Wordlessly they resumed their walk across the lot.

Rafe met them halfway. "Hi guys. Lovely way to spend a beautiful Saturday, huh?" "Yeah," Blair murmured. The younger detective gave him a sympathetic look before turning to Jim. "All we've been able to determine so far is that the victim is male. It appears his throat was slit, then his body was put in the dumpster and ignited."

Jim nodded in acknowledgement as they reached the dumpster. Blair hung back, willing to put off viewing the body as long as possible. The stench alone was turning his stomach, and he wondered how far Jim had his smell dial turned down. As the Sentinel peered into the trash container, Blair kept a close eye on him. After a moment, Jim glanced significantly at Blair. He swallowed, and nodded, understanding that his partner was preparing to examine the body more closely. "Frank, you get pictures of this yet?" When the forensics photographer nodded, the detective climbed into the dumpster. Blair moved closer, still avoiding looking inside. He started up a sentinel-soft monologue to help guide his friend through the grisly task and keep the Sentinel from focusing too much on one sense.

"The body burned for quite a while, though not long enough to erase the fact that the victim was human, and male. The fingers and toes are charred. It's going to be difficult getting prints lifted from them." Jim's voice sounded hollow coming from the metal container. Blair risked a look inside, and regretted it. He took a deep, ragged breath, and forced himself under control. Jim shot him an appraising look. The younger man simply shrugged. Several minutes later, the detective emerged from the dumpster. His face was set in stone. Not even the bulging jaw muscles moved.

"The throat was definitely slit," Jim said to the others. "Whoever it was, knew what they were doing. They sliced both carotids, and the wind pipe. The guy died in seconds."

Rafe and Brown nodded.

"It doesn't appear that he had any ID on him. I didn't find any evidence of a wallet or anything." Jim gripped Blair by the shoulder and gently steered him away from the side of the dumpster. "Who found the body?"

"A Joe Hanson. He works the morning shift," Brown answered. "Said he noticed an awful stench coming from the dumpster, and came to check it out. Poor guy. He didn't expect this."

Jim's jaw muscle danced as he nodded. "Any witnesses?"

"We haven't found any so far. The last shift goes home at midnight, and the first shift comes in at six," Rafe supplied.

Ellison turned, surveying the surrounding area. The steam plant, a tool and die maker, and a heavy machinist shop were the only inhabitants of this nearly forgotten block of the city. Blair could sense his partner's frustration over the lack of clues.

"Did you get Hanson's statement?" Jim asked, moving back to examine the trash container itself. Blair moved with him.

"Yeah, Rafe took it. Hanson's promised to come to the station after his shift to sign it."

Jim acknowledged this, then turned his full attention to the dumpster. Blair watched, staying quiet, offering sentinel-soft advice when he thought his friend was concentrating too hard. "Anything?" he asked softly, when the Sentinel finished. A slight shake of the head was the only answer.

The detective directed the forensics photographer on what further pictures he wanted, then turned back to the others. "Well, it looks like we've got all we're going to get from here at the moment. We'll see you guys later."

When they reached the truck, Jim stopped. Blair gave his partner a puzzled look. The big man's hand came up to cup Blair's neck. "Chief, you gonna be okay?"

Blair waved a hand, nodding. "Yeah, yeah. I'll be fine. Let's detour to Legion Park on the way to the station, okay?"

"Why?"

"Just trust me on this, please?" Blair wasn't above using his large, expressive eyes on Jim, and he used them to full advantage now.

"All right. We'll go by the park." Jim gave Blair a mildly irritated glare, then moved to the driver's side and climbed in. Blair quickly scrambled in the other side.

The younger man fidgeted nervously the whole way, but refused to answer Jim's questions with more than a "Later." Or "You'll see." Once they reached the park, Blair practically exploded from the truck. "C'mon," he ordered, striding off to a stand of evergreens. Jim followed.

"Sandburg! What the hell are you doing?"

Blair turned around to face Jim, his expression serious. "Okay, Jim. Close your eyes." He dropped his voice into Guide mode.

"Sandburg."

"Jim -- close your eyes." With an exasperated noise Jim did as asked. "Okay. See the dial for your sense of smell. What's it turned to?"

"One."

"Turn it up to four and breathe deeply through your nose." Blair followed his own directions as he watched the Sentinel closely. After each breath, Jim's face relaxed a little further. "What do you smell, Jim?"

"Trees. Grass. Flowers. Water..." Jim opened his eyes and stared incredulously at Blair. "How did you know?"

Blair grinned, rocking on his toes. "I'm your Guide, I'm supposed to know these things." He chuckled at Jim's rolled eyes. "Seriously, all I could smell was -- that, and all I could think about was drowning it out with something else. Then I thought how much worse it probably was for you, knowing your reaction when we got there. I took one look at your stone face, and figured that even though you probably had the dial set to near zero, some of it must still be getting to you. Knowing what I needed, knowing what you needed, I decided woods would do the trick. So -- here we are." Blair gestured around them.

Jim gave him a wry smile. "Thanks, Chief."

"Not a problem."

"My Guide once again watching out for his Sentinel," Jim said, only half teasing. He clapped a hand on Blair's shoulder and steered him back to the truck.

"Hey, it's in the job description, man," Blair quipped.

They shared a laugh, the Guide feeling very pleased with himself. The rest of the ride to the station was made in a considerably lighter mood. When they arrived, Jim went to fill the captain in while Blair sat down at Jim's desk and started pulling the paperwork for a new case file. The overall mood held for the rest of the morning. The forensics photos arrived in a manila folder around noon. Jim opted to go get some lunch before looking over the pictures, and Blair was more than happy to join him.

The rest of the afternoon was spent studying the crime scene photos, and going over the forensics and medical examiner's preliminary reports. Blair looked at one of the less gruesome pictures. With sadness, he realized any hope they had of solving this case rested with the one legible print they'd managed to lift from the victim's burned fingers. If and when they could find out the man's identity, they might determine motive. Until then, there were no clues to follow. Blair knew Jim hated cases like this. He hated the ones that demanded time pass before divulging even a hint of a clue. He didn't blame his partner. Blair wondered about any family the victim might have, what they must be feeling, not knowing. As long as their John Doe remained a John Doe, any family would remain in the dark about their loved one's disappearance.

"C'mon, Chief. Time to pack up and go home." Jim's voice startled Blair out of his reverie and he looked up to see the detective already standing. Blair quickly shoved the pictures back in their envelope, put the file away, and stood up. He reached for the jacket Jim was holding out to him.

"Thanks, Jim," he mumbled around a large yawn.

Ellison just smiled, and gently guided Blair out of the bullpen with a hand to his back. "Why don't we go to that Italian place over on Third?"

"Sounds good to me, man."

Fed, happy, and content, the two men entered the ground floor of their building. Blair was regaling his partner with a feasting ritual of some tribe he'd once studied in a remote jungle in South America.

"Dammit!"

Blair stopped mid-sentence, eyes darting to the handful of mail Jim had just pulled from the box. He groaned when he spied the square, white cardboard mailer. Jim shot Blair an angry glance, and stepped onto the elevator. The younger man quickly followed. Blair worried at his bottom lip as he watched his friend's expression grow more and more remote.

Wordlessly they stepped out of the elevator and to their door. Upon entering the loft, Jim shrugged out of his coat and stalked to the table. After hanging up his own jacket, Blair turned the light on in the living room, then returned to Jim's side. He wasn't sure if the knot of apprehension he felt in his stomach was for what was in the package or for his partner's reaction to it. Shoving the anxiety down, Blair moved closer to his friend and laid a comforting hand on the Sentinel's back. He watched silently as Jim carefully picked up the mailer, opened it, and dumped the contents into an evidence bag he'd pulled from his jacket. The Guide held his breath as he waited for Jim to bring the coin closer for inspection. A few moments later, Blair felt the muscles under his hand relax slightly, and knew this wasn't one of Jim's team. In the next instant the big man slammed the coin on the table and spun away. Quick, long strides took the Sentinel to the balcony doors, where he stopped and stared out over his city.

"Jim?" Blair looked from his friend to the table, back to his friend. When no answer was forthcoming, Blair looked back at the table and picked up the plastic bag. Maybe he had been wrong. Squinting, he read the name: P. Morrow, SFC. It wasn't one of the men from Jim's team. After the last coin, Blair had pulled the "News Update" article from among the early research material he had on the Sentinel, and re-read the story, memorizing the names of Jim's men. As if to confirm his knowledge, Jim spoke from the balcony doors.

"He wasn't one of my men, Chief. I don't know any Morrow."

Blair set the coin back on the table. Turning around, he gazed at his friend, who was now leaning against the side of the window, arms crossed. "So, now we have two you know, and two you don't."

"Yeah." In a fit of frustration, Jim hit the brick wall with the flat of his hand. Blair winced, hoping the Sentinel had remembered to turn down his touch dial before getting so physical with the wall. He went to his partner.

"Is there any kind of pattern you can see?"

"No, damnit. Don't you think I've tried?"

"Relax, Jim. It's all right. We'll figure this out." Blair gripped the Sentinel's shoulder.

Jim sighed, giving Blair a faint smile. "Yeah, I know. But this is beginning to frustrate the hell out of me."

"I know," Blair answered. "So, what do we know? Hickman and Hill were on your team. Johnson and now Morrow were not. All of you were in the same unit. Could Johnson and Morrow have been in with you at the same time?"

Ellison shrugged. "It's possible. The Seventh also has a station in Central America. You know, there's something else that's been bothering me about all this. I can't quite put my finger on it, though."

"Something to do with the coins themselves? Do you think you know Johnson or Morrow after all?" Blair's voice went into Guide mode, and the Sentinel automatically responded to it.

The big man shook his head. "I don't think so. It's something to do with the coins' arrival. The timing seems odd somehow."

"Okay... let's see. I remember Hill's coin arrived on April first, because I thought it was someone's idea of a poor joke, remember?" Jim nodded. "Just a minute..." Blair rushed to his room and returned with one of his personal journals. Jim looked at him quizzically, but the younger man held up a hand, before starting to flip pages. "Here it is. The first coin showed up on March fifteenth. That's the same day two of my grant approvals came through."

"Okay."

Blair flipped a few more pages. "Johnson's coin came March twenty-third." More pages were turned. "Yeah, Hill's coin came April first, nine days ago." Blair looked up from the journal, but Jim was staring out over the city again.

"Except for the first coin they've been nine days apart," the big man said quietly. "I'm still missing something."

Blair thought for a moment, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth. When Jim suddenly turned to stare at him, he realized his heart had picked up speed. "Uh, the fifteenth was a Monday. What if Hickman's coin had actually arrived a day earlier -- on the fourteenth. That would put nine days between the first and second coins."

"Okay. So?"

Blair took a deep breath. "Think about it. Pair them up, and it adds up to eighteen days." Jim's confused look didn't change. "Eighteen days -- eighteen months?" Blair ventured uncertainly.

The big man's confusion turned to dismay, and he closed his eyes. After a moment, he opened them. "Beginning with the anniversary of the crash. You think they're linked somehow?"

"Well, look how they've been delivered. First a man from your team, then someone you don't know, then another man from your team, now another one you don't know. Seems to me they've got to be linked in some way."

Jim nodded. "It makes sense, and I'm somehow the linchpin. The question now is, how are they linked?"

"Hey, man, I can't think of everything," Blair teased. His friend smiled, reaching out to ruffle Blair's hair.

"Is that so? Well, I guess it's a good thing I'm a detective, huh?"

"Yep."

Jim actually chuckled a little at this. "I'm gonna have a beer, how 'bout you?"

Blair nodded. "Sounds good." While Jim retrieved the beers, the anthropologist put away his journal. They settled on the couch to watch an inane comedy on AMC.

"Jim, are you going to tell Simon about the coins?" Blair inquired a long time later.

The older man sighed. "I don't know. When it was a one or two shot thing, I wasn't. I didn't see any need. But now -- I don't know."

"He's your friend too, I think you should tell him. He'd like to know about this."

"You're probably right, Chief. We'll see."

"Okay." Blair yawned. Rubbing a hand over his face, he said, "I'm goin' to bed. Night, Jim."

"Night, Chief."

Blair stood, and went first to the bathroom. When he came out, and headed for his room, Jim spoke again.

"Chief?"

He looked back at his friend.

"Thanks. For everything today."

Blair smiled, waved, and disappeared inside his room.

After the events of the previous day, Sunday turned out to be quiet and relaxing. Jim watched the ball games, and Blair spent some quality time on his dissertation.

They got to the station at nine Monday morning. Blair went to get them both some coffee. When he returned Jim was already on the phone. He heard his friend ask for a Colonel Duffy as he sat down in the chair next to the desk, placing one of the mugs in front of Jim. Blair waited silently, listening and watching intently as he sipped his coffee. It intrigued him to see Jim unconsciously square his shoulders and sit straighter when the colonel came on the line.

"Hello, sir. Jim Ellison."

The detective hung up nearly thirty minutes later with a heavy sigh. He leaned forward to rest his elbows on the desk as he rubbed his temples.

"Do your breathing, Jim. Relax, and let the tension flow out of you." Blair's voice was sentinel-soft, and had the desired effect on his friend.

Jim cast him a tiny smile, relaxing back in his chair. "Paul Morrow, age fifty-three. He retired three years ago. He was a medical officer."

Blair blew out a breath. "Same as Hill."

Jim nodded once, toying with a pencil. "Hickman and Johnson had the same MOS. Now it turns out Hill and Morrow did too. I'm getting a really bad feeling about this, Chief. I know I'm missing something here, but I don't know what it is. Dammit!"

"We'll figure it out, Jim. We always do."

"Yeah, we've been telling ourselves that for weeks." Jim sighed.

"Jim? What's M.O.S. stand for?"

The older man's lips quirked a bit. "Military Occupational Specialty."

"Ah. So what was your M.O.S.?"

"Detachment Commander," Jim replied off-handedly. "Let's get some of this paperwork cleared off my desk before any more piles up."

Blair smiled and set to work. His mind continued to mull over the problem of the coins.

***

April 19, Monday

The ninth day from the last coin delivery dawned with one very tense and grouchy Sentinel. As the week had progressed, Blair had noticed Jim becoming more and more uptight, almost like when he'd first met the detective. Knowing the reason for his friend's growing unease, Blair had put extra effort into keeping his Sentinel relaxed. Apparently he wasn't the only one to notice Jim's testiness. The anthropologist had observed some of the other detectives beginning to act like they were walking on egg shells around Jim. Blair hadn't blamed them. In a way, they were.

Blair's anxiety had increased as the next delivery date approached. If the pattern held, the next coin would belong to one of Jim's men, and he worried about his partner's reaction. Fortunately, their workload remained steady, providing a necessary distraction. When they were working a case, Jim could focus on it instead of the puzzle of the coins.

Blair was certain the only reason Jim hadn't snapped was the fact that they'd gotten an ID on their John Doe. His name was John Haley, age fifty-six. When the identification came in, it matched a Missing Persons report filed by the victim's wife a day after the murder. With resignation, the two men went to see Mrs. Haley.

"God, I hate this," Blair said softly, staring out the window of the truck at the modest two-story home they'd come to visit.

Jim nodded. "Yeah." He got out of the truck, and Blair quickly followed. As the two men walked up the sidewalk, Blair noticed his partner automatically surveying the area.

The door opened before Jim could knock. A pleasant-looking, middle-aged woman with graying brown hair and hazel eyes greeted them. "You're the police, aren't you?"

Jim took out his badge and showed it to her. "Yes, ma'am. Detective Ellison. This is my partner, Blair Sandburg,"

"You've found John, haven't you? He's dead, isn't he?"

Blair was sure his eyes reflected as much pain as Jim's did. "Yes, ma'am." The woman's calm cracked a little with this confirmation, tears filling her eyes. "Please, may we come in?" Jim asked.

Silently, Mrs. Haley nodded, and opened the door wider, admitting the two men. She led them to the living room, where she mutely offered them a seat, and sat down on the sofa. "W...What happened?"

Jim sat down on the edge of a cushioned chair, turning to face Mrs. Haley. Blair stood beside his partner. "Mrs. Haley, I'm sorry. This isn't going to be pleasant." Jim paused. "Your husband's body was found nine days ago..."

"Nine days! What...?"

"His body wasn't identified until this morning," Blair supplied quietly. The woman looked up at him in confusion.

"This morning?"

Jim bowed his head for a moment, then looked back up at her. "Nine days ago, your husband's body was found in a dumpster behind the steam plant. He'd been murdered." Jim swallowed. "The reason it took so long to identify him -- is because the body had been burned."

Mrs. Haley gasped. "Oh, dear Lord in Heaven! I saw something about that on the news." She shook with the effort to control the tears that wanted to break loose.

Without hesitation, Blair sat down beside her. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Haley. Can I get you a glass of water or something?" When the woman nodded, he leapt to his feet and quickly located the kitchen. He returned a minute later with a tall glass, handing it to Mrs. Haley. He realized Jim had waited for him before saying what he had to next. Blair flashed his partner a grateful smile, and sat down beside the grief-stricken woman.

"Mrs. Haley, I need to ask you a few questions," Jim said quietly.

She nodded. "I figured you did. Go ahead and ask, Detective."

"Did your husband have any enemies that you were aware of? Any personal problems that could have gotten him in trouble?"

Mrs. Haley smiled a little. "If you're wondering if he had any vices like gambling, the answer is no. John didn't gamble. He played poker with some friends once in a while, but he didn't even buy lottery tickets. As for enemies, the construction business is very competitive, but as far as I know, John has never made any enemies from it. He was a good man, stern, but fair. As far as I know, everybody liked and respected him."

"You mentioned construction business?"

"Yes, we own Haley Construction. It's a small business. We've only had it about five years."

"Are there any partners involved? Any financial difficulty that you're aware of?"

"Only one partner, John's brother Frank. He's a banker. I handle the books. The first three years were very lean, but the past couple have been steadily improving. We made it into the black last year, and so far it's stayed there."

"Okay. Can you give me your brother-in-law's phone number and place of employment, and a list of your employees and their numbers? We need to talk to everybody your husband might have had contact with."

Mrs. Haley nodded, and got to her feet. Several minutes later she returned from the office across the hall with a computer printout. "This is our employee roster. Their names, addresses, and phone numbers are in here. This is Frank's business card."

Jim took the offered information. "Thank you. How about the friends he played poker with?"

Again, Mrs. Haley disappeared briefly, coming back with a list of names and addresses. By now Jim and Blair were standing. Jim accepted the additional piece of paper with a quiet thank you, and they prepared to leave.

"Mrs. Haley, is there anyone we could call for you?" Blair asked, reluctant to leave the woman alone with her grief.

"Thank you, Mr. Sandburg, that won't be necessary. I have a sister in town. I'll call her."

Blair smiled, then with another quiet thanks for her help, followed his partner out the door.

The rest of the afternoon was spent tracking down and questioning the employees of Haley Construction. By day's end, both men were exhausted, but no closer to finding their killer. As they drove home that evening, Blair found himself hoping against hope that there wouldn't be another delivery waiting. It wasn't to be. The moment Jim opened the mail box, both men spotted the familiar cardboard mailer. Blair groaned. Jim said nothing as he extracted their mail from the box and moved toward the elevator. He didn't have to. The stony face and twitching jaw muscles said it all.

Once upstairs, Jim stripped off his jacket, hung it up and strode to the table. Blair followed a little more slowly. He wasn't relishing the possible impending reaction. The big man wasted no time opening the package and dumping the contents into the waiting evidence bag.

"Whose was it?" Blair asked softly after watching Jim simply stare at the coin for nearly a minute.

Jim's eyes flicked to him, then back to the coin. "Ben Sarris." With an audible sigh, the older man tossed the object on the table and walked into the kitchen. "He was my Engineer Sergeant."

Blair inclined his head, pursing his lips as he mulled over this information. "Sarris? Why does that name sound familiar?" Absently, he took the beer Jim handed him.

"Does the Switchman ring any bells, Chief?"

His eyes rounded. "That crazy woman who was blowing up parts of Cascade in a vendetta against you? Veronica, right?"

Jim nodded. "That's her. Ben was her father."

"Okay, I remember now. That's why Veronica had it in for you. She blamed you for her father's death." Blair cursed himself when he saw Jim's clamped jaw and icy blue eyes. "Jim, man, it wasn't your fault. You couldn't have prevented their deaths! The helicopter was shot down."

Jim's stare bored through Blair. "I was responsible for them."

The anthropologist wiped a hand over his face in frustration. Setting the beer down, he went to Jim and gripped his friend's arms. Meeting those cold blue eyes, he said, "You were responsible for them, but you are not responsible for their deaths. Whoever shot the helicopter down, or whoever ordered it shot down, is responsible."

Jim's gaze melted, though the jaw muscles still twitched. "I know, Chief. I know. But that still doesn't prevent me from feeling like I should've known... something."

"How, Jim?" he asked reasonably. "Your senses weren't even online then. They didn't come on-line until you were faced with surviving in that isolated jungle, alone. Don't beat yourself up for something you had no way of predicting."

Jim tilted his head in reluctant agreement, and Blair dropped his hands. "It was just such a waste," the big man said with disgust, moving toward the balcony doors.

"You're right, Jim, it was a waste, and it's good that you remember them, but it's over. It's in the past."

Ellison shook his head sharply. "Someone's sure trying their damnedest to make it current."

Blair had no answer for this, and shrugged helplessly. Instead, he fell back on a tried and true response. "We'll figure this out, Jim."

The older man nodded. "Yeah," he said without much conviction.

Blair watched his friend for a long moment, as the Sentinel stared out at his city. Finally, he turned and headed for the kitchen.

Dinner was a quiet affair. Jim was mostly silent, but listened as Blair described the latest activities going on at the University. The older man would even ask questions now and then, but the anthropologist was perfectly aware of where his friend's thoughts were. Finally, finished eating, Blair picked up his bottled water and sat back in his chair. He took a drink from the bottle, then idly toyed with the label. "So, can I ask about it?"

"Ask about what?" Jim didn't look up, concentrating on finishing his own meal.

"About the Army. What you did there. The structure and dynamics of your team."

Jim smirked. "Careful, Darwin, this is sounding suspiciously like a Q&A for your dissertation."

"Jim, not everything is about my diss." Blair's voice held a touch of hurt. "I thought we were past that. I'm just curious. I don't know much about the Army or your time in it."

The older man's hand reached out and gripped Blair's forearm briefly. "I know, buddy. I'm sorry." Jim pushed his plate away and sat back. "I just don't know how much I can tell you. You already know about the crash, and generalities about the mission. Whatever else I can remember, which isn't much, is classified."

"I know, Jim. I'm not interested in the crash or Peru right now. I'm more curious about your team."

Silence for a long moment. "Okay." Ellison sighed wearily. "What do you want to know?"

"Tell me about the dynamics of the team. Each man had his own specialty or responsibility, what were they?"

Jim didn't answer right away. Instead he got up and busied himself with clearing the table. Blair could tell his friend was thinking about what to tell him, or how much, so he kept quiet and watched. Finally, the dishes soaking in the sink, leftovers put away, Jim came back to the table and sat down. "Each A-Team actually consists of twelve men."

"A-Team? Sounds like a TV show."

Jim chuckled a little. "Detachment Alpha, otherwise known as A-Team."

"Is there a B-Team and C-Team, too?" Blair couldn't resist asking. To his surprise, Jim nodded.

"B-Team is a support team. You could call them the information coordinators, I guess. They're never on the front lines."

"Okay, so tell me about A-Team."

Jim smiled faintly. "Well, there are five specialties. The Communications Sergeant handles all electronic communications. The Medical Sergeant is just shy of a full M.D. He's up on the latest field medical technology and limited surgical procedures. The Engineer is the explosives expert. It's his job to destroy targets and build buildings and bridges. The Weapons Sergeant is obviously the weapons expert. He has to know how to use most weapons, American and foreign. Finally there's the Operations and Intelligence officer. He develops operations and intel for the missions. It's his responsibility to advise the commander on the best way to employ the information gathered. Four of those five have assistants. The O&I man is basically an assistant to the Team Sergeant. Then there's the XO, and finally the Detachment Commander. Twelve men in all."

Blair digested this for a moment. "XO stands for Executive Officer, right?"

Jim nodded. "He's the second in command, and usually has the most knowledge and experience. Everyone is cross-trained in at least one of the other specialties so the team won't be crippled by a loss. With each specialty having an assistant and each specialty cross-trained in at least one other field, it makes for an incredibly versatile team."

"That makes sense, but if an A-Team actually consists of twelve men, why did your mission only have eight?" Blair could have slapped himself when he saw the pain in Jim's eyes.

"On rare occasions special missions are put together, sometimes with as few as three members. It depends on the mission and what's required. A team of eight was supposedly all that was required for Peru. And truthfully, twelve men for that mission would have been unnecessary. At least four men were spared that crash." Jim fell silent, idly tracing the imperfections only he could feel on the tabletop.

"I'm sorry, Jim. I didn't mean to make you dredge all that up again."

Jim shrugged. "You didn't, Chief. Those coins are doing a fair job of that all on their own." He stood up, moving toward the kitchen. "God, I wish I knew who was doing this, though."

Blair watched him for a moment, then murmuring a soft, "Yeah, me too," he got up and joined his friend in the final clean up.

***

"We're approaching drop zone, sir."

He nodded and signaled his men to get ready for the rappel from the chopper. The ropes were dropped. Harnesses, equipment, and hardware were checked, and one by one his men signaled their readiness. The hairs on the nape of his neck prickled. He turned to look out the open side of the helicopter. Above the noise of the engines and the whirring of rotor blades, he heard a whistling sound. Within seconds he had the sound identified, but it was too late. In helpless horror he watched as the streaking missile found its target. The ship shuddered under the explosion. For a suspended moment the helicopter seemed to hover in the air, before beginning its plummet toward earth. Thick, black smoke filling the cabin.

"We're goin' down!"

Jim sat up, gasping. His heart was pounding, and sweat drenched his face. With one last gulping inhalation he closed his mouth and forced the air out through his nose. It helped. His heart and respiration were already beginning to slow back to normal. He rubbed a hand over his face as he drew his knees up, and with a sigh, leaned his forehead against them. He closed his eyes, and immediately opened them again. The images were still there. Sharp. Crystal clear. Sharper than they'd ever been. This was just like the dream he'd had several weeks ago, only with more horrifying detail. Until now, he hadn't remembered actually seeing the instant the missile hit.

After several long minutes, Jim lay back down, the images receding. He hoped he could go back to sleep, but he wasn't counting on it. Almost without conscious thought, he reached out his hearing, and found his Guide's steady heartbeat. He tuned in to that soothing, familiar sound. Several minutes later, a restless sleep reclaimed him.

"Sarris! Hold on, buddy."

"It's too late for me, sir."

Jim clenched his jaw, knowing it was true. The Engineer was losing a lot of blood, fast. There was nothing he could do but continue to press the gauze against Sarris' side. Most of the medical supplies had been destroyed in the crash. The smell of blood, oil, and fuel filled the air. The mingled scents threatened to overwhelm him, and he swallowed hard against the sudden nausea.

"Complete the mission, Captain." Sergeant Sarris' brown eyes slowly closed, and he breathed his last.

Ellison could only stare at the now lifeless figure. "Complete the mission, Captain. Complete the mission, Captain. Complete the mission..."

Jim opened his eyes, Ben Sarris' final words echoing in his mind. He wiped a hand across his face, trying to dispel the haunting images. Sarris hadn't been the last man to die, but he had been the last one able to speak. Jim closed his eyes, cupping his hand over them as he took a slow, deep breath, and let it out. Several seconds passed. Finally dropping his hand, Jim glanced at the clock. 6:12 AM. With a sigh, he sat up, deciding it wasn't worth trying to go back to sleep.

***

Blair shuffled out of his room, intent on heading to the bathroom for a shower. He stopped when he noticed his Sentinel standing watch by the balcony doors. Uh-oh. "Jim?"

The other man turned his head slightly in acknowledgment. "Morning, Chief. Go ahead and grab a shower, I'll fix breakfast."

Blair didn't say anything for a long moment, simply watching his friend with a growing sense of concern. "Okay," he said finally, deciding to let the matter alone until he was more awake.

His algae shake, eggs, and toast were waiting for him when he ultimately emerged from his room. Jim was looking over the paper while he drank his coffee, a plate of barely touched eggs in front him. "All right, Jim, what is it?"

The older man glanced up, but quickly turned his attention back to the paper. "What's what?"

Blair took a seat, but only leaned his elbows on the table to look at Jim. "Come on, man, don't play dumb," he admonished quietly. "I find you standing sentinel at the balcony, you fix my algae shake, you've hardly tasted your food, and to top it off, you look ragged this morning. So what is it?"

A tiny smile twitched the corner of Jim's mouth, but it quickly faded. "I had some bad dreams last night. I didn't get much sleep, and I guess I'm still thinking about them."

Blair pursed his lips, studying his friend. "About Peru," he said knowingly. He knew he was right when he saw the jaw muscles flex. Silently, he began eating, knowing Jim would talk about it when he was ready. He didn't have long to wait.

"Yeah," Jim confirmed. "One was the same as the one I had a few weeks ago, only even more detailed."

"What was it about?" Blair interrupted softly, sensing he was on the verge of learning something new. The older man stared into his coffee mug for a moment.

"The crash. Actually, it was just before the chopper went down."

Blair remained quiet, though he felt his excitement rising. When Jim gave him a rueful smile, he knew the Sentinel had picked up the thrum of his nerves. "Hey, man, I'm sorry. I can't help it. I get the feeling you're about to tell me something I haven't heard before." He reached out and laid a gentle hand on Jim's arm. "This was more than a nightmare, wasn't it? You're remembering something."

Jim nodded. "I heard one of the missiles, and saw it hit."

Blair was stunned. "You saw it?"

"The one that hit the rotor. Another went right through the cockpit."

He stared at the Sentinel. He hadn't expected a revelation like this. Eventually he found his voice. "No wonder you've repressed most of that. I can't imagine what you must've felt."

Jim gave him a faint smile, nodding in agreement.

"What else do you remember?"

The older man sighed, moving to pour himself more coffee. Blair watched, shaking his head when Jim held up the pot. "Ben died from a hemorrhaging spleen. There was nothing I could do."

"Ben? Veronica's father?"

"Yeah. He took a piece of shrapnel in the side. I tried to stop the bleeding, but we both knew it was useless."

"Wait a minute. He was alive?"

Jim gave him a puzzled look. "Yeah."

Blair realized what he'd said, and felt the heat rise in his face. He lowered his gaze. "I'm sorry... I thought they'd all died in the crash."

"It's all right, Chief. It was a reasonable assumption," Jim said quietly. "The fact is, the chopper was only about fifty feet in the air, so it didn't have all that far to fall. When I came to, four men were dead, and three others were critically injured. There was nothing left of the pilot."

Blair waited for Jim to say more. When his friend didn't, he asked, "What about you?"

The big man grimaced. "Somehow I came out of it with nothing more than a few cuts and a major headache."

"And you're still blaming yourself for what happened." The statement was made without accusation.

Jim met his gaze reluctantly. His jaw muscles twitched as he nodded slightly in agreement. Blair put a hand on his Sentinel's shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "Do you think your men would blame you? Do you think even one of them knew or thought they were being set up?"

"No."

"Then you shouldn't either. Jim, you were meant to die in that crash too, remember? Why you didn't, only a higher power can answer, but I have a theory."

Jim smirked, getting up and beginning to clear the table. "A theory, huh? Do I want to hear this?"

Blair stood and carried his own dishes to the kitchen. "Yeah. You said you heard one of the missiles. Did the others hear it too?"

Ellison sighed. "An incoming missile makes a very distinctive sound, Chief. I'm sure they heard it too."

The anthropologist waved that answer aside. "Think, Jim. Over the noise of the helicopter, you heard the missile. Did the others hear it then too, or did it take a few seconds?"

Jim stopped what he was doing, turning his gaze inward. "Uh, I remember feeling my skin prickle. I thought I heard this sound, and looked out. It took me a moment to identify it. By the time I figured out what it was, the others were hearing it too, but it was too late."

Blair knew his eyes probably shone with the excitement he could hardly contain, but his voice was serious and sincere. "I think your senses were starting to come online then. Not all at once, and definitely not overwhelmingly. Your instincts were probably kicking in, kind of like an early warning system."

The big man made a disgusted noise. "My instincts, huh? Well, we know where my instincts lead me, don't we?"

"Only when you try to force them down the wrong path, or try to ignore them altogether, Jim." The curly-headed man saw his friend flinch. "Shit. Jim, I'm not specifically talking about what happened last year. I'm talking about all the times your senses or your instincts have warned you something was wrong, but you've dismissed them until almost too late. Lila comes to mind." He saw Jim stiffen, and he added softly, "I know, Jim. That was a low blow, but it's a good example. You had those sensory spikes because your instincts were trying to tell you something wasn't right."

"I wasn't trying to ignore my instincts last year," Jim interrupted quietly.

Blair closed his eyes, rubbing a hand over his face. Blowing out a breath he looked up at the Sentinel. "Jim, we've been over that. We were totally out of sync with each other. I accept partial blame for that, just as you do. Alex messed us both up. If you'd told me about your visions, I probably could have helped you interpret them, but likewise, if I'd pushed you more for answers like I usually do, you would have told me. It's over with, done, put to rest. Hopefully we've forged a stronger bond because of it?" Blair knew it was true, but he still sometimes needed affirmation from his partner.

Without hesitation Jim strode quickly to him, and gripped Blair's shoulders. "We have, Blair. I have no doubt of that."

Blair reached up and squeezed one of Jim's hands, gazing steadfastly into those azure eyes. "I don't either."

A slow smile spread across Jim's lips. He nodded and straightened. Backing away a step, he said, "Come on, I think work calls."

Blair grinned. Within minutes, they were in the truck, headed for the precinct.

***

The next nine days were a study in endurance for Blair. Recurring nightmares plagued the Sentinel, robbing the big man of sleep, and increasing Blair's concern. Fatigue could be dangerous for anybody, but for a cop it could be downright deadly. Perfectly aware of that fact, Blair stuck closer and closer to his partner when they were out on cases. Despite this, they investigated and solved two murders and a high profile jewelry store robbery. Unfortunately, the Haley investigation stalled. Not one employee or known associate had a motive to kill the man. They couldn't even find a potential suspect among the rival construction firms. The lack of leads only added to Jim's frustration level.

For the most part, all Blair could do was try to keep his friend from becoming too agitated, and hope some kind of clue to who was sending the coins would present itself soon. Finally, Blair decided to take matters into his own hands, at least as far as his friend's well-being was concerned.

"Jim, I have an idea I want you to let me try."

The detective arched an eyebrow. "An idea about?"

Blair rolled his eyes in disgust at Jim's tone. "I'm worried about you, Jim. We both know you're not getting enough sleep."

"I'm touched, dear," the big man said sarcastically.

"Man, I'm serious. You know you can't go on like this."

Jim sighed heavily and sat back in his chair. Crossing his arms over his chest, he looked at Blair. "Yeah. I know. What's your idea?"

"I want you to let me try to put you into a form of meditation sleep."

"Chief--"

"What can it hurt, Jim? You need at least one good night's sleep, and if we don't do this, I'm going to bet you won't get any sleep at all tonight, since tomorrow is... you know." Blair overrode Jim's automatic rejection. He'd attempted to get the Sentinel to accept this idea earlier in the week, with no luck. This time, he was determined to win the argument. He was both surprised and worried when Jim nodded his head in acceptance. To Blair, this spoke volumes about how tired his friend was.

A couple of hours later Blair settled himself in the lotus position on Jim's bed as his friend got comfortable under the covers. "Okay, Jim. Do your breathing. Close your eyes, take a deep breath, and let it out slowly." The Sentinel obeyed, instantly falling into a more relaxed state. Blair watched his friend closely as he guided the big man toward releasing all tension in his body. The Guide could almost see each layer of tension fall away as he talked. Forty-five minutes later, the big man was sound asleep.

***

April 28, Wednesday

The next thing Blair became aware of was being poked in the ribs. He mumbled and squirmed away from the prodding. A few moments later he felt it again. He realized they were fingers. He opened one sleepy eye and looked right into his Sentinel's amused gaze.

"C'mon, Chief, up and at 'em."

Blair opened both eyes and stared at the covers under his cheek. Blue. Jim's bed. Blair bolted to a sitting position. "Jim, man, I'm sorry. I must've fallen asleep. Why didn't you kick me out of here?"

Ellison chuckled a little as he began to climb out of bed. "Don't worry about it, Sandburg. I didn't even know you were there until I woke up."

"Huh? Wait. Does that mean you…?"

"Slept like a baby, Chief," Jim finished for him. "Not a single nightmare that I can recall. Thanks. Your idea worked."

"Great! So you're feeling better?"

"Yeah, Chief. I feel more rested than I have in days."

"Cool! That's great, man." Sandburg grinned as he virtually vibrated with enthusiasm.

Jim smiled again, heading down the stairs. "Uh-huh. Now, you'd better have your lazy butt out of my bed by the time I come back or I'll help you out."

"Ooo, sounds kinky," Blair quipped.

His friend threw him a mock glare, but couldn't hide the grin stealing over his face. The detective shook his head, and continued toward the bathroom.

Still grinning, the Guide bounced to his feet and hurried down the stairs, making a bee-line for the coffeemaker in the kitchen. Once it was brewing, he disappeared inside his own room. Minutes later he took Jim's place in the bathroom while the detective went upstairs to dress. To his surprise Jim had pancakes and sausage ready when he came out. Blair murmured appreciatively, but made no other comment, not wishing to dispel the only peace his Sentinel had managed to attain in over two weeks.

The lighter mood held until they reached the station. When they entered the parking garage, Blair could feel Jim's spirits begin to falter. He figured his partner was thinking about the Haley case and its lack of leads. He was trying to think of something to say to bolster both their morales, when Jim looked at him and gave him a small smile. "Come on, Chief. We've got work to do." The detective opened his door and stepped out of the truck. Blair quickly followed.

At around 11:00 Blair was thoroughly occupied performing an Internet search, when Captain Banks appeared beside Jim's desk, startling him.

"Sandburg. Where's your partner?"

"Hey, Simon. He had to go over to the DA's office and give a deposition on the Larson case. He should be back pretty soon."

Simon nodded, remembering. "Good. I want to see you in my office for a minute."

"Uh, sure, Simon," Blair said uncertainly.

He closed down the web browser and got up to follow the captain into his office. He stepped inside ahead of Simon, turning to watch as the bigger man quietly closed the door and hung up his suit coat on the hall tree.

"Is there something I should be yelling at you for?"

Blair shook his head, though he swallowed nervously. "Uh, no."

"Then relax." Simon moved around his desk and sat down. "I want to know what's been going on with Jim lately, and why haven't you told me."

"Sir?"

"Sandburg," the captain warned, "if there's something going on with Jim's senses, I want to know about it. You've never hesitated to tell me before. Now, out with it."

Blair held up his hands defensively, and rushed to explain. "There's nothing wrong with his senses."

"Then what is it? And don't play dumb." Simon ordered. "For something like two weeks I've watched a pressure keg known as Jim Ellison building steam, threatening to blow a gasket, and you've been sticking to him like glue. Now, this morning, most of that pressure has either been bled off or diverted. So, which is it?"

"You mean Jim hasn't told you?"

The captain frowned. "Would we be having this discussion, if he had?"

Blair shook his head, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "It's personal, Simon. I thought he was going to talk to you about it. If he hasn't yet, I..." He shrugged helplessly. "It's not my place."

"It's not a sentinel thing?"

"No, it's not." Jim's voice quietly interrupted them. Simon started, and both men turned to look at Jim, who had entered silently.

Simon glared at Sandburg. "Did you know he was there?"

Blair smiled slightly, gazing at his Sentinel. "Yeah, Simon. This falls under that category of things you don't want to know."

Jim chuckled softly as Simon rolled his eyes. Turning serious, he moved farther into the room and shut the door behind him. "It is personal, Simon, but I had intended to tell you what was going on. It's just that, it's been busy enough around here that there was never an appropriate time."

Simon motioned both men to seats and reached for his coffeepot. After they were settled, the captain gazed at his best detective. "So, what's been going on?"

Jim looked down into his cup for a moment. Raising his eyes to meet Simon's, he spoke. "Every nine days since the middle of March I've been receiving a little gift in the mail."

Simon's lips quirked in amusement. "Have an admirer, huh?"

Blair snorted. "One with a decidedly cruel sense of humor, if that's the case."

Banks looked at the observer strangely, then back to Jim. "Why? What have you been getting?"

"Coins." Jim held up a hand to forestall the protest he saw building. "These aren't ordinary coins, Simon. They're -- special." ´

"Jim?"

Ellison stood and walked to the windows, gazing out at the people going back and forth about their business. Blair kept a close eye on his friend in case he needed his support. Without turning around, the detective continued his explanation.

"And," Jim concluded several minutes later, at last turning away from the windows, "according to the calendar, I'm due to receive another coin today."

Simon did not look happy. "This has been going on for over a month, and you're just now telling me about it?"

"Sir, the first one belonged to one of my men. I thought it was someone trying to return it to his family. When I got the second one and it didn't belong to anyone I knew, I thought it might be a joke, especially when the third one arrived April first and belonged to one of my men again. I admit, by that time I was really beginning to wonder what was going on. We knew there was going to be another delivery, it was just a matter of when. After the fourth one, we figured out they were being delivered every nine days."

"Why every nine days?" the captain questioned.

"It was Sandburg who connected that, sir. If you pair the coins in the order they were delivered, they add up to eighteen days, which corresponds to eighteen months, which is how long I was stranded in Peru."

Comprehension dawned in Simon's eyes. "You think it's someone connected to that mission, or to Colonel Oliver?"

Jim shook his head. "Maybe, but I don't think so. I get the sinking feeling it's more personal than that."

"You're damn right it's more personal than that," Blair piped up. "Someone's waging psychological warfare on you, man." Jim shot his partner an annoyed look, but simply sighed.

Simon glanced at the grad student, but asked Jim, "You thinking the Switchman?"

"This isn't Veronica's style. She was trying to make it public. Whoever this is, is keeping it strictly private. Blair's right, Simon. Someone's doing a damn fine job of messing with my head."

Banks frowned, rubbing a hand over his face. "No ideas who it could be?"

Jim shook his head, sighing heavily. "Other than someone with knowledge of the morale coins and connections to the government, no. I've been racking my brain, but so far no one's come to mind."

"Any possibility Brackett might be involved in this?"

"No. Brackett's only interest was in my Sentinel abilities, he couldn't care less about the men who died or my feelings about that."

Simon nodded in agreement. "Where are the coins now?"

"At the loft, in evidence bags. We handled the first three before I gave it much thought." Jim flashed an appreciative look at Blair. "I suspect they were as clean as coins four and five are."

"Even so, we should have forensics check them out," Simon said. "You say another coin is due today?"

"Yeah."

"Why don't you go home at lunch and bring it and the other coins back here?"

"Will do, sir."

"How's the Haley case coming? Any leads yet?" the captain asked, changing the subject.

Jim's jaw clenched as he shook his head. "No. We've turned up no one with a possible motive for killing him. If it weren't for the very professional way he was killed and the obvious attempt to hide the man's identity, I would have to say this was a completely random homicide. I've asked Records to dig deeper into Mr. Haley's past. I should have the results this afternoon. Maybe something will turn up there. Otherwise, I'm completely stumped."

"Good enough for now. Why don't you meet me here after lunch? I'd like to see these coins before you turn them over to forensics."

By 1:30 they were back in the captain's office. Simon studied the coins curiously. The white disk mailer sat temporarily ignored on the conference table.

"You said three of these belonged to the men on your team, and the other two are strangers?"

Jim nodded, gazing at the coins. After a moment he reached out and picked one up. "This one was first. It belonged to my Communications Sergeant." Ellison set it aside and picked up another. "This one was second. It belongs to a man who retired from the Army two years ago. He was also a Communications Sergeant." He set this coin next to the first, and picked up another. "This one belonged to my medic." Jim lined this one up under the first coin and picked up one more. "He retired three years ago. He was also a medic." The detective carefully set this coin next to its counterpart, and picked up the last coin. "Ben Sarris, my engineer." He placed the piece of metal under the first column. All three men stared at the disk mailer, knowing the coin inside would fill the empty space.

Just as Jim reached for it, Simon's secretary, Rhonda, knocked and opened the door. "Excuse me, Jim, here's the results of the records search you requested on the Haley case."

Jim passed the cardboard container to his partner and took the folder she was holding out. "Thanks, Rhonda." The blonde woman smiled, retreating as quietly as she'd entered. The detective turned his attention to the file. "Go ahead and do the honors, Chief," he said as he opened the folder. "Now, maybe we'll get some answers to why someone wanted to kill Mr. Haley."

Blair nodded in agreement, glancing down at the package in his hand. Absently, he pulled the zip strip and dumped the piece of silver into an evidence bag. Instead of looking at the coin his focus returned to Jim and the file in time to see his partner's face go white. "Jim?"

Without a word Jim plucked the coin from Blair's fingers and looked at it. The anthropologist saw the look of guilt and anguish that flared in his friend's eyes, before the older man tossed the coin and folder on the table and moved to the windows. There was a definite slump to his shoulders.

Blair glanced at the items on the table then at Simon, before focusing a concerned gaze on his Sentinel. "What is it, Jim?"

Without turning around Jim quietly answered. "Haley retired from the Army five years ago." He cleared his throat. "He was an 18C with the Seventh SFG."

Blair's brow furrowed in puzzlement. He easily translated the SFG to mean Special Forces Group, but he didn't have any idea what 18C meant. Casting another furtive glance at Simon, he saw an equally confused expression. "What's an 18C?"

Jim bowed his head. "18C is the MOS designation for an Engineer Sergeant."

"Oh." Blair's gaze darted back to the newest coin. "It's Haley's coin, isn't it?"

His friend nodded.

"Wait a minute. You mean to tell me our murder victim was in the same Army unit, and that's his coin?" Simon spoke up in disbelief.

Ellison finally turned around, his face reflecting the guilt and anguish he felt. "It's too much of a coincidence not to be."

The captain nodded reluctantly in agreement.

"How do I tell Mrs. Haley her husband was killed because of me, a man he didn't even know?" Jim asked raggedly.

"Man, you are not responsible for his death!" Blair said vehemently.

"I might as well be. It's obvious I was the reason Haley was made a target. He fit the profile."

Blair clenched his jaws in imitation of Jim's familiar action, but he said nothing. There was nothing he could say to that.

Simon sighed heavily. "Why don't I give Mrs. Haley a call?"

"Thank you, sir, but no." Jim shook his head. "I need to do this myself."

Banks stared at his detective for a long moment. Finally, he nodded. "All right, Jim, but take Sandburg with you."

"Yes, sir."

Jim didn't sound resigned or disappointed by the order. Blair offered an encouraging smile, and was mildly surprised when his friend squeezed his shoulder in passing. Blair quickly gathered up the coins, and followed Jim out of the office.

After delivering the coins to the forensics lab, the two men headed for the Haley residence. When the door opened, they were met by a woman who was taller and younger than Haley's wife.

"Yes?"

"Excuse me, ma'am, I'm Detective Ellison." Jim showed her his badge. "Is Mrs. Haley available? I need to talk to her."

"Hello, Detective. I'm Lily's sister, Jessica Peterson. Please, come in."

"Thank you, Ms. Peterson," Jim said quietly.

The woman smiled and led them into what was obviously an office. "Please, have a seat. I'll tell Lily you're here."

Jim and Blair looked around the neatly ordered room. A large desk with a computer on it took up much of the middle. A long table stood against one wall, littered with blueprints both rolled and unrolled. A round tub held more rolled up plans. Built in book shelves on the other wall held three-ring binders and various institute standards indexes. On the credenza behind the desk were a fax machine and small copier. A niche in the bookcase had been set aside for various personal items such as family photos and construction awards. Among the pictures was one of a broad-faced, dark-haired man in an Army dress green uniform, wearing a beret. It wasn't the standard military portrait Blair was used to seeing, but a more candid shot of the man accepting a large, open, hinged box from another uniformed man. Judging by all the gold braid and striping, Blair guessed the other man was at least a Colonel, or maybe even a General.

"Haley, I presume?" Blair asked quietly, indicating the photo.

Jim looked at the picture, allowing his eyesight to zoom in for more detail. His hands and jaw clenched reflexively. "Yeah, must be. The other man is Colonel Pierce."

"Who's he?"

Jim shrugged. "He was in charge of operations and intelligence training. He and I didn't see eye to eye on a few things."

"You knew the Colonel, Detective?"

Both men turned at Mrs. Haley's quiet voice. Jim swallowed. "Yes, ma'am." They took seats as the woman maneuvered around the desk and sat down. "I was with the Seventh SFG until '90."

"Did you know John?"

"No, ma'am, I don't think so. We might have met on training exercises, but I don't recall."

Lily's brow furrowed in concentration. A few seconds later her face brightened and she snapped her fingers. "That's why you look familiar! You're that poor man who was stranded in Peru for a year and half, originally thought KIA."

Jim nodded slowly. Blair hid a faint smile behind his hand. He knew Jim was uncomfortable with any mention of the media event that took place after his rescue, and now the man was almost squirming. Deciding to take the spotlight off his partner, Blair asked, "Was that a medal your husband was receiving?"

She looked at the picture for moment. A small, sad smile touched her lips. "Yes. It was his Joint Service Achievement Medal. He got that after a one-week mission unexpectedly turned into three months."

Blair was impressed. Figuring the mission itself was classified, he didn't bother to press for details. He glanced at Jim to see that his partner had paled. What the--? Does he know something about that mission? The detective shook his head slightly at Blair's questioning look and he let it drop for the moment.

Jim cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Uh -- we're here because more information has turned up concerning your husband's death."

Lily looked expectant. "Do you know who -- killed him?"

Ellison bowed his head for a moment, then met the woman's eyes with an anguished gaze. "No, not yet, but we think we've discovered the reason."

"Which is?" Mrs. Haley prompted when the silence had stretched too long.

Jim's throat muscles worked. Blair reached over and gripped his friend's arm. "He apparently fit the profile for someone who's been taunting me for a couple of months now."

"Taunting you? I don't understand."

Jim swallowed. "Mrs. Haley, do you know about the SF group coins?"

Slowly, the woman nodded, waiting for an explanation.

"Did your husband have a coin?" the detective asked quietly.

Again, Lily nodded. "Yes. Even after he retired from the Army he kept that coin on him. He said it was his good luck piece."

Ice-blue eyes closed against his anguish. His jaw working nervously, Jim pulled a small evidence bag from his pocket and held it out to Mrs. Haley. "Is this your husband's coin?"

With a trembling hand, she took the offered item. Lily stared at the silver coin inside the bag for a long time. "It's John's," she whispered. "From the way you're acting, I take it you didn't find this with his -- body?"

"No," Jim breathed. "For weeks now I've been receiving coins like this. One every nine days. I have three coins that belonged to those of my men on our last mission, and now I have three coins belonging to men I don't know, but who were in the Seventh and had the same specialties as my men." Ellison swallowed the lump in his throat yet again. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Haley. I'm sorry your husband became a victim of someone's apparent vendetta against me."

Mrs. Haley was silent as she digested Jim's words. No one spoke for what seemed like several minutes. Blair glanced nervously from Jim to Lily and back again. Jim sat stoically, waiting for Mrs. Haley's reaction. Lily stared at her husband's picture, her hands unconsciously crumpling a piece of stationary that had been lying on the blotter.

Finally, blinking, Lily took a measured breath and turned her gaze back to her guests. Glancing down at the ball of paper in her fist, she looked momentarily abashed. "I'm sorry, Detective."

"You have no need to apologize, Mrs. Haley. Your anger is understandable."

Lily studied both men, noting the detective's distress, and his friend's obvious concern for him. "Do you understand that I'm not angry at you, Detective?"

The big man looked startled.

Lily smiled gently. "I want you to put your mind at ease. You are not responsible for the actions of another. I'm angry that someone chose to end my John's life because of some senseless revenge plot or whatever, but I can't -- I don't blame you for that. I have a husband I loved dearly to mourn, but I think old wounds have been opened for you. I think they are wounds that never entirely healed, and you're mourning all the harder for your lost men."

Blair beamed, thrilled with the woman's obvious concern.

Mrs. Haley nodded. "I can tell you're a very compassionate man, Mr. Ellison -- and very dedicated. I know you won't stop searching for whoever did this heinous thing until you've found them and brought them to justice. I think you would have done that for me even if John's death was a random act of violence, but I'm more than sure of it now. Go, Detective. Find that killer, and see that he gets justice."

Blair wanted to hug the woman. She'd said all the things he could have hoped she'd say. All the right words to ease Jim's guilt, and turn it into an even more determined resolve. He flashed Mrs. Haley a grateful smile, and mouthed "thank you" to her. Lily returned his smile, and tilted her head slightly in acknowledgment. Blair reached over and laid a hand on Jim's shoulder, squeezing it.

Ellison straightened from his slumped position in the chair, and lifted his eyes to meet Mrs. Haley's. "Thank you for that. I would have understood if you were angry at me."

"No need, Detective. Believe me, I am angry, but none of it is directed at you. You don't deserve it. You're a victim in this too."

Jim could only nod in agreement, while Blair mirrored the gesture emphatically. Jim stood up and turned toward the office door. Blair quickly followed, and they quietly preceded Mrs. Haley down the hallway. At the front entrance, the detective gave the woman a small smile. "Thank you. Again. We'll keep you informed."

"That's all I ask right now, Detective. Thank you. I know this wasn't easy for you."

Jim's lips twitched again, and he shook his head. Blair offered the woman his own quiet thanks, and hurried after his partner, who was already halfway to the truck.

"So, what was that reaction I saw, man?" Blair spoke several minutes later.

"What reaction, Sandburg?"

"When Mrs. Haley was describing how her husband earned that medal." The anthropologist was concerned when his friend's expression grew haunted, and his jaw went rigid. "You know what mission that was, don't you?"

A short nod.

"What happened?"

If anything, Jim's jaw clenched tighter, and Blair thought he heard a faint growl. "Some of it's classified, Sandburg."

Blair held up his hands. "Okay, okay. Sorry I asked."

A few seconds of silence passed. With a sigh, Jim said, "It was a humanitarian aid mission to Nicaragua. They were providing medical services to a couple of the orphanages hardest hit by all the fighting going on. Fighting broke out. One of the orphanages was destroyed. The team scrambled to move the remaining orphanage to a safer location. The jungles are as thick there as they are in Peru. You can have two teams only a few hundred yards apart and not know it. Anyway, they built a whole new orphanage, while assisting the meager staff with the children, and scouting for guerillas. Eventually the hot zone moved and the team was able to be recovered."

"Wow."

Jim's lips quirked in amusement.

"That's cool, what they did, but -- the orphanage that was destroyed..." Blair's voice trailed off, not sure how to ask. His partner seemed to know what he was thinking, however, because his hands tightened around the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.

"All dead," came the whispered response. "Twenty children and two staff people."

"Oh, man." Blair paused. "Were you involved in the rescue?"

Jim shook his head slightly. "No. A friend of mine led the team Haley was on. He told me what happened."

Neither man spoke again until they reached the precinct. As the detective parked the truck, Blair inquired hesitantly, "Jim, if Haley was killed for his coin, do you think the other two men were too?"

Jim finished parking the truck and stepped out of the cab before he answered. "I don't know, Chief. I hope not, but it's probably a safe bet. I'm going to do an inquiry on the national database and see what turns up. I don't know if we'll get anything back today or not."

Blair nodded in agreement and followed the Sentinel into the elevator.

***

Rooted to the deck, he helplessly watched the chopper fall toward the earth. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. By some freak happenstance, a second missile soared through the left crew door and out through the right cockpit window. Three of his men died instantly, caught in the missile's path. The pilot was disintegrated when the missile exploded out the other side of the ship. The others were hurt by flying shrapnel. He might be hurt too, he didn't know. He was too numb to feel anything. Smoke and fumes filled his lungs, and he coughed violently. Impact. He was thrown from the aircraft. His head hit something hard. He saw sparkles for a moment, then nothing.

Jim moaned quietly in his sleep. He rolled onto his side. He tossed a few more times, then subsided into a restless slumber.

The first thing he became aware of when consciousness returned was the stench of fuel, oil, jungle, charred flesh, and blood. The smell only exacerbated the pounding in his skull. Neither of those things had roused him, however. What had finally broken through the veils of consciousness was the sensation of something warm and viscous dripping on his face and trickling down the side of his neck. Slowly, he opened his eyes. Wide, sightless eyes stared back at him from the open hatch above his head. Blood oozed from the dying man's mouth, landing on his cheek. He gasped and rolled to his knees, his heart racing in fear. "No! NO! NOOOO!"

"Jim?"

"No!"

"Jim! Wake up, man!"

"No!"

"Oh, God. Jim! C'mon, man! Wake up!" Jim's eyes snapped open. Dimly, he registered the fact that he was on his knees in bed, Blair's hands were gripping his shoulders tightly, and he was speaking. "That's it, man. Are you with me now, Jim? It was a nightmare. Shhh. Easy, easy." Jim gasped, as the remnants of the nightmare came rushing back to him.

Blair felt the big man begin to tremble. "What? Jim--Jim, it's all right. It was a nightmare, it can't hurt you. I'm right here. I won't let you go. Come on, man, relax. Shh, shh." Not sure what else to do, Blair kept up the soft reassurances, and continued to hold his friend. One corner of his brain found this role reversal strange, yet oddly comforting. Jim Ellison, Mr. Stoic, didn't have breakdowns very often, and this one seemed to have badly shaken the foundations.

It was nearly ten minutes before the shaking subsided, and Jim's breathing was under control. By that time, Blair's own knees and calves were numb. Neither man said anything for several minutes more, Jim out of embarrassment, and Blair simply offering silent support. After the older man calmed, he lowered his hands and began to gently rub the muscular back.

Jim finally shifted to a sitting position, draping his legs over the edge of the bed so he could lean forward on his elbows and bury his face in his hands. Blair shifted with him, getting more comfortable while keeping up the soothing motions with one hand. "It was about Peru again, wasn't it?" he asked softly, unnecessarily.

The detective dropped his hands with a heavy sigh, and nodded. Blair waited. He wanted to ask questions, but was afraid his friend would misinterpret his motives. This wasn't about his dissertation, this was about a genuine concern and need to help a hurting friend. When the silence had stretched long enough, Blair finally ventured to ask. "Was it the same dream?" Ellison shook his head, confirming Blair's feeling that it wasn't. "What was different about this one that had you shouting?"

"Blair, I'd rather not talk about it."

Blair? Uh-oh, this is bad. Okay, I can do this. "Jim, please don't shut me out. You need to get this out in the open. It's festered inside of you for too long. If you don't talk about it, it's only going to get worse. You know that." Blair stopped, a thought occurring to him. There was an odd constriction in his voice when he continued. "Jim, I've got finals coming up in a couple of weeks. I won't be able to watch your back for a few days. I can't -- I won't let you go to work zombied from a lack of sleep from recurrent nightmares and risk getting yourself killed. I won't allow it."

Jim turned to look over his shoulder at Blair, smirking. "Protecting your thesis subject, Chief?"

"Damn it, Jim!" Blair's face darkened in anger. "This isn't about my paper! I care about you! You, Jim. As my friend, as my Sentinel. Not as a subject for a damned paper! When are you going to stop doubting me?" He dropped his hand from Jim's back and prepared to get off the bed. Jim's hand shot out and gripped his knee.

"Chief. Blair, I'm sorry. That was cold. I was teasing. I know you care about me. I think you know I care about you, too. It's just that -- you know how I am."

Blair was silent for a long moment, his back rigid. Finally, closing his eyes, he concentrated on his breathing for a moment. Calmer, he opened his eyes and reached up to squeeze the big man's shoulder. "Yeah, Jim, I know, but sometimes -- I forget," he whispered.

Jim ducked his head, almost contritely. "I'm sorry," he said, patting the leg he'd gripped just a moment before.

"Now, about this nightmare--?"

"You're not going to let this go, are you?"

Blair shook his head. "No. What I said before still applies. I'm not letting you on the streets without me if you're suffering from a lack of sleep due to recurring nightmares."

Jim nodded, his smile slowly fading. He turned and leaned forward on his elbows once again. Taking a deep breath, the detective let it out slowly. "We were preparing to rappel from the chopper when the missiles struck, so none of us were strapped in at that point. I was thrown from the ship when it hit the ground. I think I smacked my head on the landing skid, because I blacked out. I came to with," Jim stopped and gulped, "Hill's blood dripping on my face."

Blair cringed at the image. "Oh, man," he breathed.

"That's what had me on my knees," Jim said. "When I opened my eyes, his were staring down at me from the hatchway above me. I lost it for a moment, and had to get some distance."

"Understandable," Blair murmured.

A hint of a smile. "Yeah." Silence. "I think I'm going to wish these memories had stayed buried."

Blair couldn't help himself. He was excited by the prospect of learning more about Jim's time in Peru. "Do you remember more than what was in your dream?"

"I think I'm starting to. One thing of note, and I guess you can put this in your diss."

"Jim, I--"

"I mean it, Chief. If nothing else, it'll satisfy a bit of your curiosity." Jim really did smile then, and Blair knew he was sincere.

"Okay. What is it?"

"I think you might have been right that my senses were starting to come online just before the crash. When I came to, the scents I was smelling were nearly overpowering. I could smell the fuel and oil, but also charred flesh and blood. Hill's blood and the blood of the others, and my own."

"Which explains why you're able to detect the slightest trace of it without effort, and why you so easily zone on large amounts of it. Other people can recognize the smell of blood in large quantities, but for you -- for you the scent is engraved on your mind." Blair's legs began to quiver with his effort to keep from bouncing.

Jim chuckled softly. "I figured you'd come up with something like that."

Blair grinned, pleased that his friend seemed to be relaxing. He was reluctant to risk shattering the mood, but he felt there were still some issues to deal with. "So your sense of smell was probably online. Do you remember what you did next?"

Jim grew still. Blair feared that the Sentinel had zoned, but just as he opened his mouth, the big man started to speak. "I didn't do anything. All I could do was stare at Hill. It was like I was frozen in place. I knew he was still alive, but I couldn't make myself move. When I finally did go to him, he was dead."

As Blair listened to the painful memories, his hand returned to Jim's back, rubbing in soothing circles. "Jim -- "

A shake of Jim's head stopped him, and the big man continued. "I thought at first that my inability to pull myself together and help him had been his death sentence, but -- when I did manage to reach him, I realized there was nothing I could have done. He was dead the moment the piece of shrapnel that hit him punched through his chest. It just took his heart a while to realize it."

Quiet descended around the two men. "Man," Blair whispered after a moment. "I knew it had to be bad, since you've so thoroughly blocked it out, but..."

"Chief." Jim interrupted gently.

"Huh?"

"Don't go into scientific theory tonight, okay? Please?"

"Sure, Jim. Sorry." Ellison nodded his acceptance, while Blair continued to rub the Sentinel's strong back. "Are you remembering anything else?"

Jim shrugged. "Yeah. Maybe. Can we give this a rest, Chief? Six o'clock is gonna get here too early as it is."

Blair paused in his massage, then smiled. Sliding his hand up, he patted his friend on the shoulder and climbed off the bed. "Okay, Jim. Enough treading the halls of memory for one night. Think you can go back to sleep now?"

Jim reached out and briefly gripped Sandburg's arm. "Yeah. Thanks, buddy. It helped."

The anthropologist flashed one of his megawatt smiles. "You're welcome, Jim. Good night." He turned and started back down the stairs, stopping briefly to give his friend another encouraging smile. As Blair made his way back toward his room, he spoke in a voice only his Sentinel could hear. "Pleasant dreams, buddy."

***

"I'm telling you, man, we should really see about taking off this weekend. Get completely away for a day. I can work on the finals exam I'm going to give my students anywhere," Blair said as he and his partner stepped off the elevator and walked into the bullpen of Major Crime.

"It's sounds good, Chief, but I don't know if Simon can give us the time off on such short notice. After all, the Haley case is still... open."

Blair felt his friend stiffen, and looked up. Following Jim's gaze to Simon's office, he saw two men in Army uniform. He unconsciously mirrored his partner's unease. "Jim, do you know who they are?"

The detective shook his head. "No, but I have an idea." Just then Simon looked out through his office window and motioned to them. "Let's go, Chief. Time to find out what's going on."

Blair patted his partner's back reassuringly, and followed him toward the office.

"Jim," Simon said as the partners entered, "this is Major Stoltz and Lieutenant Grange, from Fort Bragg. Gentlemen, Detective Ellison and his associate Blair Sandburg."

The uniformed men stood up when the new arrivals came in. The strangers shook hands with Ellison and barely acknowledged Sandburg with a nod. Blair smiled to himself. Brush-offs such as this had long since ceased to annoy him. Sooner or later, they would receive an attitude adjustment. Instead, he simply made himself part of the background and did one of the things he did best. He observed. Of immediate note was Jim's subtle change in stance. His shoulders squared and he held himself straighter, while he exuded an air of caution.

"Captain Ellison, Colonel Duffy sent us. He sends his regards," Major Stoltz said in an attempt to break the ice.

Jim inclined his head fractionally, his face betraying nothing. "Thank you, sir, but it's just Detective now. I gave up that rank when I left the service."

"Yes, so you did. Habit, I guess."

A faint smile touched Jim's lips at this. "Why did Duffy send you all the way out here?"

"You made him curious."

"Gentlemen, why don't we get comfortable?" Simon interjected, gesturing to his large conference table.

The two Army officers returned to their seats while Banks moved from behind his desk and sat down at the head of the table. Jim took a seat facing the two uniformed men, and Blair bracketed himself on his partner's right.

Major Stoltz looked directly at Blair for the first time. "Captain Banks, do you think it wise that a police observer sit in on this conversation?"

Banks scowled. "Sandburg acts as Ellison's partner. He's been an asset to this department. I will vouch for his discretion."

"Even so, the information we have to impart is on a strictly need to know basis." Major Stoltz looked at Ellison. "Captain, as a former Green Beret, you should understand this procedure."

Beside him, Jim went very still, while Blair's heart skipped a beat in surprise. Green Beret? What? So I wasn't crazy. When he caught the sideways glance his Sentinel gave him, he swallowed the questions he wanted to ask and offered a small smile.

"I understand, Major," Jim said quietly. "However, if you can tell me why I made Colonel Duffy curious without jeopardizing your secrecy, I will tell you whether or not Sandburg 'needs to know'."

There was an expectant silence. Stoltz seemed to be mulling over this turn of events, obviously not having expected any problems. Finally, he reached a decision. "Your recent inquiries to the Colonel concerning some former Green Berets made him wonder, so he did some checking and came up with some interesting information."

"He stays."

"Pardon me?"

"Sandburg stays," Jim said again. "Those inquiries concern a case he and I have been working on, one that seems to involve me." Icy blue eyes lifted to meet the Major's stern gaze. It wasn't long before the older man conceded to the determined detective.

"Very well, Mr. Ellison. I'll trust your judgment."

One corner of Jim's mouth turned upward, but he said nothing.

"Detective, we're interested to know why you've been making inquiries."

Blair observed his partner as he silently studied the two military officers. He remembered the last time Jim had locked horns with someone from the Army, really in the Army, not some pretenders. That person had been with Military Intelligence. The woman had been arrogant, condescending, and pumped up on her own self-importance. She'd nearly gotten an innocent young woman killed because of her zealousness. Fortunately, her superiors had finally realized she'd been overstepping the bounds, and pulled the plug on her so-called investigation. So far Major Stoltz had displayed no arrogance, just the usually expected reluctance to part with information. Blair had the feeling Stoltz had knowledge they could use, but he was still surprised when Jim spoke candidly. "Sandburg and I have been investigating the murder of a John Haley. We'd been having trouble turning up a motive, let alone a suspect, so I decided to dig deeper into his past. That's when I learned he had been part of Special Forces."

"And the previous inquiries?" Major Stoltz prompted.

Jim sighed. "I received their morale coins in the mail. I didn't know either man, so I made the inquiries to find out who they were."

"Their morale coins? Why would someone send you their coins? Especially since you claim not to know them?"

"That I would like to know myself. Since the middle of March I've been receiving these coins, one every nine days. So far they've been running half and half, half belonged to my team, and the others to men in the Seventh who I don't know. I got Haley's coin yesterday."

"Someone with a grudge?"

"It appears that way."

"Are you aware that Sergeant Michael Johnson and Sergeant Paul Morrow were both murdered within the last two months?"

Jim shook his head, his shoulders slumping as he sat back in his chair. "No," he said quietly, "I didn't know, although I can't say I'm truly surprised after discovering Haley's background."

There was a moment of silence. "To tell you the truth, detective, Colonel Duffy's curiosity over your inquiries is what turned up the other two homicides. Until then, no one even suspected the deaths could be related. Johnson lived in Arizona and Morrow in Illinois. Your background check on Haley sent up a red flag. The Colonel sent us to find out what's going on."

Blair didn't like what the Major seemed to be implying, but managed to hold his tongue. After all, Jim still seemed relaxed, and he figured his friend knew how to deal with these people.

"Are you here to help, or to hinder?" Jim asked pointedly.

"If, as Colonel Duffy suspected, you are investigating a case, we're to provide what help we can. If not, we are to issue a cease and desist order and leave."

Jim pursed his lips in interest. "Sounds fair enough."

The major nodded slightly in response.

"How did they die?" Blair asked quietly.

Stoltz barely glanced at the police observer, obviously reluctant to respond to the question. "Johnson was killed in a car crash. The brake lines had been cut. Morrow was shot once through the head on his way to work." Stoltz paused. "You see now why we didn't connect them?"

Ellison nodded. "Serial killers normally don't vary their methods. When were they killed?"

"It looks like Johnson died around the fifth of March. It was a few days before his car was found. Morrow was killed on March twenty-third."

Jim stiffened, exchanging a haunted look with Blair.

"Oh, man," Blair whispered. "The same day you got Johnson's coin."

Lieutenant Grange speared the police observer with an accusatory stare. "And why do you know what day it was?"

"Grange!" Stoltz barked.

The lieutenant subsided marginally, but his stare didn't leave Sandburg as he waited for an answer.

Beside him, Blair felt Jim tensing, getting ready to spring. He gave his friend a reassuring glance, and caught a slight nod of assent. Turning back to Grange, he met the man's hard gaze. "Ever heard of a day planner, Lieutenant?"

"Why would you need a day planner?"

Sandburg ignored the condescending tone. "Hey, man, I'm a grad student, a teaching fellow, and a police observer." Not to mention Guide to the Sentinel. "I write down practically everything."

"And this is significant because?"

Blair scrubbed a hand over his face, casting a perturbed glance at his partner. "Because -- I wrote down when Jim received a coin. The twenty-third of March was one of the dates."

"Are you in the habit of getting your partner's mail?"

"As much as he's in the habit of getting mine." Seeing the odd look on both uniformed men's faces, Blair added in exasperation, "We're roommates, okay? It's pretty common for us to get each other's mail."

"I see."

"No, I don't think you do," Jim interjected quietly, his tone deceptively mild.

"That's it. I've had enough." Blair jumped to his feet and slammed out of the office. He returned moments later, plopping a notebook on the table. Reclaiming his seat, he stabbed a finger at the open page. "Here, read it for yourself, starting with Monday the fifteenth."

Grange almost eagerly pulled the notebook closer to him, but Stoltz stopped him by covering the book with a hand. Giving his assistant a quelling glare, the major closed the binder and slid it back across the table. Blair risked a glance at his partner, and caught Jim's gaze on him. The detective's expression was stern, but there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. Blair felt oddly reassured by this tacit encouragement.

"No need for that."

Blair's attention snapped back to Major Stoltz. "Good, glad to hear it. Now what?"

"I'd say we try to discover what the link is between the coins and Detective Ellison."

"We..."

"We know that whatever this guy is doing, it centers around my last mission. So far the victims' MOSes have corresponded to those of my men in the order of their delivery." Jim quietly interjected.

"I don't think I quite follow you, Detective."

"The first coin I received belonged to one of my team. The next one belonged to a stranger, but he had been in the Seventh and he had the same specialty as my man. That pattern has repeated itself twice."

"He's recreating the Peruvian detail."

Jim nodded. "Yes, sir. I believe so."

"Major, can you pull the files for the men on Jim's team, plus those of Johnson, Morrow, and Haley?" Simon spoke for the first time since the meeting began, startling everyone.

Stoltz' gaze shifted to the police captain. "Of course, but the files are classified."

Banks scowled, waving that aside. "I'm not interested in mission details, just in personal info like birth dates, wives, children, Army training courses, that kind of thing. Surely that isn't classified?"

The major hesitantly shook his head.

"Good. How long will it take you?"

"Captain Banks, I'm still not sure..."

"Major, I realize this case has some strong military ties, personally involving one of my detectives, but it is also still a murder investigation. Now, you can pull government rank and yank the case out of our hands and give it to the Feds, but since it does involve Ellison, you'd be hard-pressed to remove him from the investigation. Why don't we cooperate and get this thing solved? I'm tired of having one of my best detectives haunted by this matter."

"Gee, thanks, Captain," Jim said.

Simon's gaze turned to Jim for a moment, but he didn't apologize for his words.

"Very well, Captain. Your suggestion makes sense. We should be able to pull the information we need by tomorrow afternoon."

"Good enough. Jim, when they come back tomorrow, go ahead and take one of the interrogation rooms. Now, gentlemen, if that's all for the moment, my men have some police work to get back to."

The five men rose to their feet. Major Stoltz and Lieutenant Grange exchanged handshakes with the others and took their leave. On their way past, Jim gave the Lieutenant a measuring look.

"Well, that was interesting," Blair commented after they were gone.

Simon made a sound of amusement, moving back to his desk.

When there was no corresponding response from Jim, Blair realized his partner wasn't paying any attention. He was staring at Blair's journal, seemingly immersed in thought. "Jim?"

Ellison glanced distractedly at Blair. "Can I have a look at that, Chief?"

"Uh, yeah, sure." The grad student watched as Jim perched on the edge of the table and quickly leafed through the pages. Wondering what thought his partner was pursuing, Blair moved closer to the table. After a few minutes Jim shut the journal with a snap, and turned his gaze out the window, idly rubbing his lip with a hand.

"Jim, what is it?"

The big man's eyes were filled with guilt and anger when he finally turned to look at Blair. He said quietly, "The next man is already dead, Chief."

"What do you mean already dead?" Simon snapped.

Jim's jaw clenched at the harsh tone, and Blair cast the captain an irritated glance before focusing on his Sentinel. "What have you figured out, Jim?"

Before answering, Ellison stood up and strode to the windows. He stood, with back straight and hands clasped lightly behind his back, gazing out over his city. "Stoltz said Johnson was killed around March fifth, right?"

"Yeah."

"He also said Morrow was assassinated on March twenty-third." Blair made an affirmative noise. "I got Johnson's coin the twenty-third." Jim finally turned around to face them. "I received Morrow's coin April tenth, the same day we discovered Haley's body. I got Haley's coin yesterday."

By now Blair had paled as he followed his partner's reasoning. "Damn." It was barely a whisper. "So, where's the body, and who is it?"

Jim shook his head. "I don't know, but it looks like we have eighteen days to find out, before the next one is murdered. Damn it!"

"Easy, Jim."

Jim's eyes turned to ice, his expression furious. "How can you stand there and tell me to take it easy? Because of me, because of what I used to be, innocent men are being murdered!"

Blair held up his hands defensively. "Whoa, man, I'm on your side, remember?"

"Yeah, well, you could've fooled me," Ellison said defensively.

"Jim!" Simon commanded. "Just calm down. You're not doing yourself or the case any good by taking it out on the kid."

"No, Simon, it's all right. Who else can he yell at?" Blair looked pointedly at his partner.

Jim had the grace to blush, looking suitably chastised. "You know I didn't mean it," he said softly.

Blair nodded, waving the apology aside. "Jim, you have every right to be upset, but don't take on more guilt than belongs to you. You've got to make yourself believe that what's been happening isn't your fault. We've been over this before, but I'll say it again. It's not your fault that you survived and the others didn't. Sentinel abilities or not, you couldn't have foreseen those two missiles or reacted any differently. Jim, man, you survived something very traumatic, and now some maniac is trying to make you pay for being a survivor. So far they're doing a damned good job of it too!" Blair swallowed the lump that had risen in his throat, as he again thought how easily fate could have dealt him a different hand where one Jim Ellison was concerned.

"Sandburg's got a point, Jim," Simon interjected gently. "You can't blame yourself for this."

Jim was silent for a long time, his stance still unwavering.

"Remember, the ultimate blame rests with Colonel Oliver and his greed. He sent you and your team in there with the express purpose of destroying you."

The detective visibly seemed to deflate, though his eyes still flashed with frustrated anger. "I know you're right, Blair."

The anthropologist glanced at Simon worriedly, then plunged ahead. "Jim, the next