Disclaimer: The characters depicted within this story do not belong to us, but are the property of Pet Fly, UPN, Paramount and The SciFi Channel. No money has been made from the writing of this story.

Summary: An Internal Affairs investigation is not what it seems.

Author's Note: Takes place after TSbyBS. This story stands alone, independent of any others I have written. Many thanks to Mackie. Without her no one would ever read this.

Keerah, Lilguppee, and OCONN have my undying gratitude for their beta efforts. Any other mistakes? Blame me. A host of others who were so generous with their help and encouragement along the way deserve more thanks than I can give. This story is much better for it.

 

INFERNAL AFFAIRS
By Jael Lyn
August 2003

Simon Banks gently pulled the door shut, taking the time to hear the latch click into place. He paused a moment, conscious of the fact that taking time to notice such a thing was definitely out of character. He was generally a man in a hurry, impatient with the little details of life. Funny how doing something you dreaded slowed you down. Instead of bellowing his usual, "Ellison, my office", he crossed the bullpen to stand by the man's desk. It wasn't as if he was going to sneak up on Ellison or anything.

Jim didn't look up from the keyboard. "I know, I know, sir. This should have been on your desk three yesterdays ago." He hit the command to print and looked up with a triumphant smile. "The Crawford report is officially all yours, Captain. Better late than never, right?" His smile faded as he noted the blank expression on his superior's face. The question was on his lips when Banks interrupted him first.

"Grab your coat, Jim. We need to take a walk."

****

Everything about the park was familiar, although Jim rarely came so early in the day. Sprinklers clicked in the background. City personnel were no doubt trying to finish the daily maintenance early in the day before Cascade's downtown population arrived for a mid-morning stroll or an early lunch. The odor of wet grass was pleasant but nearly overwhelming until he concentrated. Bless Sandburg and those sensory lessons.

They walked past the still-shuttered Mr. Tube Steak before Simon spoke. "Sandburg's out until - when? Noon?"

"Maybe a bit later," Jim answered. "Even for Sandburg, those rookie follow-up exams take time. They were giving him that last section of the detective's exam with it."

Simon snorted and shook his head. "That's our Sandburg, alright. I wish Darryl could process information the way he does. I wish I could."

"What's this all about, sir?" Jim stopped, no longer willing to wait. The maintenance men had scuttled off in their truck to complete other duties. They were totally alone in the center of the park. "We're not out here for the view. Spit it out."

"No, we're not. This is one conversation we don't need prying eyes or ears for." Simon paused, staring off into the distance. "Damn, this is hard. There's an ongoing internal investigation that no one, and I mean no one, is supposed to know about. It doesn't involve the PD, but IA is running the show. They were deemed the most impartial unit available with the correct expertise. Jim, this can't go any further. It's not even supposed to go to me. Somewhere in the city administration there's a major skimming operation going on. Maybe it's gone on for years, who knows? I really don't know the details, but it has major political implications and could involve millions."

"So if it doesn't involve the PD and Major Crime isn't investigating, why are we here?" Jim asked tersely.

Simon's demeanor didn't improve. "IA has been infiltrating key people, trying to get the information they need to build a case. You can imagine the difficulties."

"Sure. You don't know who's with you or against you. No undercover operation is any different." Jim's body tensed. "Let me guess. Our fearless leader Warren decided I could be the human wiretap or something equally stupid. I knew I was going to regret the day we let him in on the sentinel thing, even if it was the price for getting Sandburg in the door as my partner for good."

"Honestly, Jim, as bad as that would be, I wish. They don't want you. They want Sandburg." Banks stopped, waiting for the outburst from his detective. Jim's eyes went wide, his jaw clenched, but he remained silent. "One of the principals in the investigation drove his car into a ravine." He raised his hands, anticipating Jim's response. "He wasn't forced off the road or anything. The idiot was driving drunk. Anyway, he's out of the picture. They've decided to insert Sandburg."

"No!" Jim roared. "Son of a bitch! So that's their bright idea? For what possible reason? He's not even out of his probationary period. The ink's not even dry on his exams."

"Think about it, Detective. I wish I could sugar coat this. Within Major Crime, we know Sandburg for what he is." Simon shrugged. "I hate to say it, but in the larger organization, everything about him is questionable."

Jim's face darkened as the reality sank in. "So that's it," he said grimly. "Blair's dirty anyway, so why not?"

Simon didn't even try to get a word in. He stood quietly, letting Jim's rage spill out, grateful they weren't sitting in his office. No office was soundproof enough for this. The tirade finally slowed. The two men stared at each other, one resigned, one emotionally exhausted.

"They don't care, Jim. Their eyes are on the big picture. They need tools in a tough situation, and like you said, every choice could be the wrong one. Sandburg's not even a person, not as far as they're concerned. He's a walking, talking liability. Any personal consequences aren't even on the radar. He's expendable and credible. I tried to talk them out of it. Believe me, I tried."

Jim let his shoulders slump. "I suppose they wouldn't listen to reason. Obvious things, like you don't send an inexperienced officer undercover, period. Or that it would be better to recruit someone that wasn't out of the blue. Blair's only asset to them is a tarnished reputation. That's a lousy way to stage a covert operation."

"It's done, Jim."

"Damn it, they can't do this. It's not right." Jim looked off in the distance. "Simon, you're his commanding officer, and we're all friends. He's had a tough time already, ever since Alex. He gave up his career, pushed himself to the max at the academy. It's worn him down. You know this. It's too much to ask of him right now."

"They're not asking." Simon took a deep breath. "I've done everything I can. The options are pretty limited. He could turn in his badge. So could I, so could you. I mean that. I want you to get him the moment he steps out of those tests. Take him somewhere, lay it out. By three this afternoon, either our badges are on Warren's desk or he presents himself to IA."

"Nice they gave him time to consider," Jim said bitterly.

"Like I told you, it's not being presented as an option. There's no point in having any illusions about this. I won't be his commanding officer. They'll try to keep plenty of distance between you and Sandburg."

"So if something goes wrong, they can hang him out to dry?"

"In a word, yes. He'll be on his own." Jim dropped onto a nearby bench, his face blank. Simon didn't expect anything else. A threatened Jim Ellison didn't reach out. "I have to get back to the office. I'll clear your cases." His topcoat swirled behind him as he turned and walked away.

******

Blair took a deep breath on the top of the steps and sighed in relief. It wasn't like he hadn't taken a million exams, but this one had really made him nervous. He hated to admit it. To make it worse, Jim undoubtedly knew he was freaked, which brought out his overprotective streak. It was pretty foolish, really. Jim always getting ready to slay the next dragon, while he was busy pretending there were no dragons.

Blair set the nagging worries aside. It was time to enjoy the moment. Until someone told him differently, he was just going to believe that his scores were great, that he had the department's full support and he was ready to be an equal partner with the real star of Major Crime. A little denial never hurt anyone. He bounded down the steps two at a time and jogged toward his car. If he was lucky, Jim would have their paperwork done and they could work on something more interesting. He was sticking the key in the door lock when a voice from behind made him jump.

"Hey, detective. Didn't they teach you anything about watching your back in there? Maybe you'd better go take that test again."

"Jim!" Blair turned and leaned back against the car door. "Damn, you scared me," he scolded. "What are you doing here? Slinking in the shadows, I might add."

"I wasn't slinking, you just weren't paying attention. It's noon. There aren't any shadows."

Blair broke into a grin. After the tension of the morning, it was good to relax. "Well, technically there are shadows at any time of the day."

"Enough. Technically, I'm taking you to lunch. We can drop your car at the loft and go together. I was thinking that new sandwich place. Grab some takeout."

"Sounds good," Blair said, hopping into the Volvo.

It took twenty minutes to drop off his car and get the food. Jim seemed uneasy, and their conversation quickly dwindled away to nothing. Blair checked his watch. "Wow, look at the time. Guess we'll be gobbling these in the break room, huh?" Jim's answer was to turn in the opposite direction, heading for the waterfront instead of the heart of downtown Cascade.

"Jim?"

"Relax. How many sunny days do we have in Cascade? We've got Simon's blessing." A few minutes later they pulled into public parking near the pier.

"You going to tell me what's going on?" Blair asked, climbing out of the truck.

"Yeah," Jim answered. "I just need some air, you know?"

"Usual spot?" Blair asked, heading for a familiar bench that looked out over the water. Like the balcony at the loft, it was one of the spots Jim retreated to when something was really bothering him. Blair played along, making small talk about the food and teasing Jim about the multiple layers of cheese and beef he'd ordered. Normally, Jim would inhale his sandwich before Blair got the paper peeled back. When Blair took his last bite and realized Jim was still picking at his, he bumped Jim's knee with his own.

"As much as I appreciate the lunch, maybe you ought to tell me what's got you so bugged."

Jim set the remains of his sandwich down and stared at his toes. "Simon talked to me this morning. There's an internal investigation in city administration. We're talking graft and fraud on a major scale, maybe in the millions. Simon doesn't have many details, but it will be undercover. It's political, with a big price tag. IA's running the show because they don't trust anyone else."

Blair nodded. "Well, if it's political and involves money, it's messy. I understand. When do they want you? I can manage on my own for a while."

"They don't want me, Chief. They want you." Jim finally looked his partner in the eye.

"Me? What do I know about financial stuff? I don't have those kinds of skills. What can I possibly do..." Blair's voice trailed off under Jim's unwavering gaze.

Jim couldn't bring himself to say more. His gut twisted as the expression on his partner's face changed. Blair could connect the dots with the best of them.

"I see," Blair said slowly. "Well, I guess questionable ethics is a unique skill where IA is concerned. I'd be just about perfect. So much for moving on and leaving the past behind." He sat quietly, a slight flush climbing into his cheeks. The hurt showed in his eyes.

"It's a slap in the face, and we both know it," Jim said. "Feel free to rant. I didn't hold back when I heard."

Blair cracked a small smile. "How far did Simon take you?" he asked ruefully.

"Downtown park. I spent some quality time yelling at the sprinklers, for all the good it did."

"That's why Simon's a captain. If he'd kept you in the building, you would have ripped someone's head off."

"When we go back, I may still do it. Simon did everything he could to stop it, but he's not really in the loop. He offered to resign over it. I feel the same way."

"Forget it, Jim. After all we've been through? We're finally working together. I'm a few months away from having jumped all the hoops for a legitimate position. This is just a little detour." His voice lifted a bit, aiming for cheerful. He failed miserably and swallowed. "I need to walk for a minute, okay? I'll be right back, and then we'll talk this out."

He took a few steps and turned. "Thanks, Jim, for taking the time to do it this way. It means a lot." Jim couldn't have felt worse as Blair walked to the end of the pier and faced the ocean.

*****

"The meeting's in room 508." Simon fiddled with some papers on his desk. "I wish I could say you didn't have to do this."

"I still think we should call their bluff," Jim said sullenly.

"I told you, Jim," Blair said firmly. "It's karma. I'll go to the meeting, hear what they have to say."

"They don't have a blank check, Chief. Be smart about this."

"I'll be fine," Blair said, standing up to leave. "Just - run through it one more time, just so I don't mess up. Officially, Simon, what do you know?"

Simon dug around his desk. He scanned the notice once he found it. "The original memo stated you were to report to IA, with no further explanation, and forbidding discussion with other department personnel, specifically your partner." He tossed the offending paper away. "I immediately called and demanded to know if you needed representation. That's a minimum procedural right. They said no, but stonewalled. I went straight to Warren and got the gist. They weren't happy about including me in the circle of 'need to know', but I'm good at being a squeaky wheel."

"So they know you talked to Warren?"

Simon nodded. "But not Jim. They were emphatic about that."

"Okay. I'll ask them to keep you informed, Simon. They may fight it, but if they do, I'll walk out." Blair turned again for the door. Jim moved to follow him, but Blair shook his head.

"I'm your partner," Jim protested. "They can't shut me out. You're allowed an advocate."

"You're not even supposed to know. You need to be smart about this, too, Jim." Blair closed the door to Simon's office behind him.

The two men watched him go. "Don't get your hopes up, Jim." He shrugged. "It's a lousy deal, no way around it." Simon grabbed a stack of folders off his desk and handed them to Jim. "Here, take these. It's a new case that just got kicked up to us. The southwest suburbs have had a rash of car-jackings. It started slowly, but we've had twenty in the last ten days. They're getting more violent each time. Bring yourself up to speed. Start by reviewing the reports we have to date."

Jim stared at the files in disgust. A quick glance at the file labels made things worse. "You've got to be kidding, sir. Three different precincts? It will take days just to track down the investigating officers."

Simon opened the door and looked coolly at his detective. "So the sooner you start, the better. As soon as I hear anything about Sandburg, I'll tell you, orders or not."

Jim left and tossed the folders onto his desk. Simon obviously figured it would be easier for everyone to get him out of the station and busy on the street. Not too subtle. He glanced back into Simon's office. His captain was already tied up with a call, but was still keeping an eye on him through the windows. Judging it would be best to play along, Jim grabbed his jacket and headed for the elevator, folders under his arm.

He went down four floors, then got off and doubled back to the stairs. The individual floors of department headquarters had basically the same layout. Jim knew exactly where Room 508 was from prior encounters with IA. The small, windowless room was used for small conferences and interviews that needed to be strictly private.

Any sign of Jim Ellison anywhere around IA right now would be seriously unwelcome. He headed for the sixth floor instead. Sherrie Layne, the administrative assistant for Traffic, was very understanding. Jim gave her his best smile. Traffic hardly ever did interviews at the precinct. It would be absolutely no problem for Detective Ellison to escape the general confusion in Major Crime and use one of the empty conference room to review all those files. As a matter of fact, he could come back any time.

Detective Blair Sandburg was just being seated in Room 508 when Jim slipped into Room 608 directly above him and scattered the folders across the table. He sat down and opened the first file. A large yellow legal pad was available for notes.

Jim smiled to himself grimly, rather pleased with himself. IA intended to isolate Sandburg for their own purposes, but his partner had other ideas. Detective Ellison might be studying files, but Sentinel Ellison had a meeting to eavesdrop on.

He winced at the sound of chairs scraping across the floor, and struggled to adjust his hearing. All he had to do was filter out everything except the conversation. Such a simple thing, one he did all the time. He was painfully aware of how much easier it was with Blair close by, especially when his own emotions were all over the map. He idly started drawing designs on the legal pad, trying to stay focused. To any passerby, he was diligently taking notes.

"Thank you for coming, Sandburg."

"That implies I had a choice. If I do, I'm out of here right now, Captain Ringold."

"An unnecessary display of attitude, Sandburg. Of course you have a choice. You might want to keep in mind that for a new officer, such as yourself, refusing to assist in a major operation would seem - unusual, shall we say."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, Detective. Just an observation. You'll have a performance review at the conclusion of your first year with the department. It's critical for your continued employment in good standing. Let's just say that relevant information in a probationary review can come from a variety of sources."

"Right. So that's just an observation. It sounds more like a threat."

"I'm pointing out the obvious, son. Just things you should keep in mind for your own well being."

Jim promptly scribbled a dark smear on the pad, blotting out his design. He'd like to do the same to Ringold, and anyone else involved with this whole fiasco. That son-of-a-bitch didn't give a damn about Blair's well being.

"I'm not your son. I'm here. Get to the point."

"We need to insert someone into an on-going investigation. It's an emergency, and we think you fit the bill."

"Why pick me instead of someone else? You could get plenty of people that would love to go undercover and score a few points with IA."

"That's really our concern, not yours. You wanted to get to the point, so we'll keep it simple. Here's how it's going to work. You'll be reassigned, and do what you're told. Just what you're told, and nothing else."

"How exactly am I supposed to help your investigation if you don't tell me what's going on?"

"Strictly need to know. If we don't put someone in place, our subjects may move their activities through routes we're unaware of. We can't run the risk of losing track of them. Your role is not investigative. You're a place holder; nothing more."

"Then get someone else. I don't want any part of it. All I want - all I ever wanted - was to work with my partner without interference."

"We're not open to other options. They've been considered and discarded. We feel you're the most suitable choice."

"Based on what? My good looks?"

"There's that attitude again. Based on the fact that we can put you in place without arousing suspicions of being planted."

"And why would that be?"

Jim nodded ruefully. Good for you, Chief. Make the bastard say it. Make him admit it, even if they probably didn't have a tape running and would deny it later. There was a long silence from the room below.

"If I don't get an answer, a straight answer, I'm out of here."

"We're using you because no one would associate you with IA. You're reassignment will be announced as pending disciplinary action, officially of an unknown nature. You'll leave Major Crime under a cloud. It will be sufficient cover for our purposes."

"And it doesn't bother you the story is totally untrue? Just what am I supposed to have done?"

"Let's just say those exams you took today were an example of providential timing. Officially, there'll be some, shall we say concern, about your answers. No one will ask any questions, considering your prior difficulties at the University. They'll believe it, and that's all we need."

The pencil snapped in Jim's hand. The clash of metal on metal had him gritting his teeth.

"What are those? The keys to the city?"

"No, the keys to your new apartment. Lieutenant Mercer, who will be running your end of the case, will take you by Ellison's loft and pick up your essentials. You'll relocate immediately, and have no further contact with anyone from Major Crime. The impression that you and Ellison have parted ways will reinforce the cover story we'll be using for you. His response needs to be authentic. Under no circumstances will you divulge the details to him, or discuss our arrangement with anyone else. I'm sure you can come up with a plausible note to leave for Detective Ellison. Mercer can look it over before you leave it."

"Jim and I have been roommates for years, and we've been through a lot together. He won't buy it without a better explanation."

"Then it's up to you to make him believe it."

"What are you going to tell Captain Banks? The lie, or the truth?"

"It really doesn't matter, does it?"

Jim flung the nearest folder against the wall. Papers scattered in all directions and floated gently to the floor. Of course it mattered.

"I want Captain Banks to know."

"Duly noted. You should be on your way, Detective. Oh, until this is over, it will be Officer Sandburg. The demotion in rank is consistent with a probationary officer under investigation. All the appropriate papers will be filed in personnel this afternoon. If anyone decides to check, there'll be no holes in the cover story. Mercer will give you the rest of the details. I can sense your reluctance. Just keep in mind that this is your best chance of becoming a permanent member of the Cascade PD family."

The chairs scraped again; fingernails on the blackboard to the man listening just one floor above. Jim was shaking with rage. Blair was on the move, but he caught one last muttered comment from his partner before he lost him.

"If this is family, I would rather have been raised by wolves."

*****

Blair dumped his half-eaten sandwich back onto the plate. His mood was as dreary as his new residence. The floor tile in the tiny kitchen where he now sat was worn, ugly and generally filthy. It would probably have been healthier to eat off the asphalt in the parking lot.

The rest of the low-rent studio apartment wasn't any better. Apparently, IA thought manufacturing a few financial difficulties made the story more convincing. In addition to his abrupt departure from the loft, they'd taken the Volvo for the duration. If anyone asked, he was to tell them it had been sold to raise cash. Blair suspected the real reason was to keep his mobility limited, making him easier to watch.

A tattered cardboard box sat on the wobbly dinette table next to him. Blair rummaged through it, completely uninterested in finishing the remains of his dinner. The sheets and towels were much used and looked like they'd come out of someone's basement. The same someone had thought to include a few essentials like shampoo, soap, razor, shaving cream and toothpaste.

That was the closest IA had come to providing for his comfort. He'd scouted the miserable kitchen when Mercer brought him here from the loft. With the Volvo already gone, Blair had convinced him that a run to the grocery store was the least IA could do. He had exactly two pans; a skillet that had long since lost its nonstick finish and a sauce pan with a handle that wiggled but no lid. The reality of what he had to work with made the shopping list pretty short. There wasn't even a toaster or a coffeepot.

He desperately wanted to call Jim. There was no phone in the apartment, and he was fairly certain the cell phone Mercer had given him would be monitored. Since Mercer had strongly suggested he stay put until reporting for work in the morning, trying to slip out wasn't much of an idea either. The two guys sitting in a car across the street had to be reporting to IA.

Blair deserted the kitchen. He slumped onto a sagging couch in the adjoining room which just happened to be the only furniture in the room. The cardboard box would have to be a table. He'd owned better furnishings as a starving grad student.

He should probably unpack his duffle, make up the bed, at least try to make the best of a bad situation. Maybe he should have walked away. The only thing that had kept him in the car with Mercer was the certainty that Ringold wasn't making idle threats. Until he finished his probationary period, he was extremely vulnerable. The academy had been bad enough, but most of the evaluations in that setting were objective. The probationary reviews were, for the most part, subjective. Simon had done everything possible to smooth the way, but even the crafty Captain Banks couldn't cover a negative report from a prominent department like IA.

One thought truly haunted him. When it was all over, would Jim actually want him back? Maybe in Jim Ellison's world Blair Sandburg just wasn't worth all the hassle.

*****

Jim snorted in disgust. If this was any indication of how Ringold was running his investigation, IA wouldn't be able to find the center of Cascade in broad daylight. At a minimum, he needed better subordinates than Mercer. He could see no justification for such sloppy work.

Blair's new residence was supposed to be kept secret from his former colleagues, aplan that was pathetically simple to subvert. He had no problem to the loft before Blair finished packing and follow Mercer. He'd even taken the time to borrow a car, concerned that his own truck would be too easily recognized. In retrospect, he shouldn't have bothered. Mercer wouldn't have noticed if he'd driven up and parked right next to them.

The moment Mercer and Blair left the apartment, Jim was out of his vehicle and headed up the stairs. It took seconds to pick the flimsy lock and slip inside. Blair was an adaptable sort of guy, but Jim seethed at the thought of his partner spending even one night in such deplorable conditions.

He'd discovered the bugs quite by accident, the electronic ones at least. He'd had his hearing jacked up, horrified by the scurry of roaches in the kitchen when he caught a faint hum that didn't belong there. He found two listening devices before he decided time was running short and he needed to get out. So much for Blair's civil rights, and it didn't speak well for IA's methods. Of more immediate concern to Jim, keeping in contact with Blair without IA catching on would be more difficult.

Now it was nearly ten o'clock, and the surveillance team was just as sloppy as Mercer was. Maybe they wanted Blair to know they were there, but that was no excuse for not seeing him parked half a block behind. Jim was betting they weren't spending the night.

His hunch paid off. Twenty minutes after Blair turned out the lights and headed for bed, the surveillance disappeared into the night. No doubt they were counting on electronic means to cover the rest of the time. Jim had a few ideas of his own about that.

*****

Blair stared at the ceiling, certain that sleep was a lost cause. Counting sheep hadn't worked, so he'd tried other alternatives, like counting the reasons his life was a disaster or the number of lumps in his mattress. If he'd still had his laptop he would have spent the night Internet surfing until fatigue finally got the best of him. Unfortunately, IA had his laptop and personal cell phone with the Volvo. They were "inconsistent" with his cover story. He didn't just feel totally isolated, he was totally isolated.

He was sure he'd heard the scurry of rats. Well, he'd lived with rats in the warehouse, but it still gave him the creeps. No doubt there were roaches, too. Jim would have a fit, not that he'd ever let Jim see the inside of this dive. He should have gotten some roach killer at the store, but he'd been too upset to think that far ahead. The whole thing was a total nightmare.

Tap. Tap.

Blair groaned and folded his arms over his eyes. More noise. He'd never get any sleep.

Tap. Tap.

Worse than a drippy faucet. More than ever, he sympathized with Jim, hearing every little creak in the night. So far he had crawly things, rats, and now this. Next it would be a brass band.

Tap. Tap.

Shit. From the window. Probably some animal, or something swinging in the wind. Time to get a grip and ignore it. He punched the lumpy pillow and closed his eyes.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Damn it. This was the last straw. Blair bounded out of bed. Whatever it was - animal, vegetable or mineral - he was going to rip it apart with his bare hands. He jerked back the curtains, intent on finding the latch. It took a moment before he realized what he was looking at.

The grimy pane was filled with a sign, lettered in wide black marker.

"DON'T SAY A WORD"

Standing behind it on the fire escape, holding a penlight, was Jim.

Before Blair could do anything other than stare, Jim flipped the cardboard over.

"RADIO"

Radio? Jim mimiced a turning motion with his hand. After a moment of confusion, it dawned on Blair what Jim meant. He scrambled across the darkened room to his clock radio and turned up the volume. He hurried back to the window and fumbled with the latch, working as quietly as he could. When he finally got the pane up, to his surprise, Jim didn't come in. Instead, he motioned Blair out onto the rickety fire escape.

Jim lowered the window as much as he could without actually shutting it. "Don't look down, Chief. This thing is decrepit enough to spook me, and I'm not afraid of heights."

"What are you doing here? Are you crazy?" Blair asked, stepping apprehensively onto the metal fire escape. It groaned ominously under their combined weight.

"Not entirely, but I'm getting close. Your surveillance drove off about half an hour ago. My original plan was to sneak you out and have you come home, but your place is bugged. They'll know if you leave."

"Bugged? As in wiretap? Well, I guess it would be a wiretap if I had a phone." Blair did a double take. "You're kidding, right?"

"I wish I was."

The implications started to dawn on Blair. "You were in here? How? Jeeze, Jim, let's take a few risks with your career."

"Like I give a damn right now. Don't bother with the lock on the front door, either. Any self respecting B&E guy would laugh himself silly. When you went to the store, I came in, just to check it out. I found two of them before I ran out of time, one in the kitchen and one in the hall light. There might be more, which is why I didn't chance coming inside."

"Shit, haven't these guys ever heard of the Constitution?"

"Apparently not. Simon's going to blow a gasket when I tell him. I may call the ACLU."

"You?" Blair choked back a chuckle. "Willingly call a lawyer? A liberal lawyer?"

"Always with the smart mouth. Maybe not the lawyer. Yet."

"Jim, I appreciate it and all, but we need a plan here. I'm not supposed to talk to you. Not you or anyone in Major Crime. You could get in a lot of trouble coming here, or telling Simon about coming here."

"You don't have to tell me anything. I heard it all on my own, or at least the part with Ringold. You need to fill me in on Mercer."

"How do you know about that? And Mercer? No way. They would have thrown your ass out of IA as soon as they saw the whites of your eyes."

"Duh. I didn't go there. I sweet-talked my way into Traffic. I was in the room right above you. I heard every last disgusting word, loud and clear."

"I should probably be mad at you, but I'm glad you were there. You found the note in the loft?"

"Yeah. Good piece of fiction. I was impressed."

"Then I'm glad you knew what the real deal was. I hated the thought you'd believe a word of it, even for a moment. How'd you find me, anyway?"

"Borrowed a car and followed you over. I was afraid they'd spot the truck. It was a waste of effort. As far as covert procedures go, these guys are pathetic. So what are you supposed to do tomorrow?"

"Report to Special Assignments and do as I'm told, I guess. It's a little office in the basement of the courthouse, so I'm told."

"It is. Look, just play along. I don't think we can risk meeting here on a regular basis. One way or the other, I'll get us some means of communication that will be secure, and safe."

Blair scuffed his bare feet along the metal of the fire escape. "Why would they bug this place, Jim? What could they possibly think I'm going to do? It doesn't make any sense."

"Don't worry about it right now. I'll take care of it. Be heads up tomorrow, okay, Chief? This is going beyond stupid and insulting to scary."

Jim started to climb down the metal steps. Blair caught his hand just before he descended. "Thanks, Jim."

"Just don't believe any of the crap they tell you. You're not alone, not by a long shot." With that he melted into the darkness.

*****

Simon had just settled into bed with the book he was trying to finish when the phone rang. He groaned and leaned across the bed to answer it. Without fail, whenever he got comfortable, something else went down that needed his immediate attention.

"Banks."

"Incoming. Put a steak on the grill for me."

Simon stared at the phone. The caller had hung up. "What the hell?" he muttered to himself. It had sounded like Ellison. Steak? At this hour? On the backyard grill?

Simon grabbed his robe, taking a wild guess at what Jim was trying to tell him. So much for calling it an early night. Jim was standing at the sliding glass door on the patio by the time he got there.

"This better be good, Ellison. You ever hear of the front door?"

"I talked to Sandburg," Jim said, slipping inside and ignoring the question.

"I probably don't want to know how you pulled that off. I distinctly remember assigning you a new case." The stormy look on Jim's face made Simon reconsider the wisdom of chewing his detective out right this second. "Why don't you start at the beginning?"

"Short or long version?"

Simon glared at him. "As long as I get the truth, make it short."

"I listened in on Blair's meeting with Ringold. Did he talk to you? Blair asked them to."

"He didn't call. I tried to reach him. Ringold's not answering my calls."

"They're inventing some disciplinary infraction and sending him to Special Assignments. Special Assignments! Where the total misfits and unfit for active duty get mothballed! They took his detective rank."

Simon's frown deepened. "I told you that myself. The change in rank, I didn't know about. That's not all, is it?"

"No. They moved him out of the loft and took his car, to make it look he was in some financial trouble. He was supposed to leave me a kiss-off note. Take a look." Jim dug it out of his pocket. "I guess I'm supposed to be part of the plan without actually being told."

Simon skimmed the folded sheet and gave a low whistle. "You wouldn't have taken this quietly. It must have killed him to write this. Where is he now?"

"Set up in a roach infested third floor apartment over on Grant. No phone. They had a surveillance team on the place, for God's sake."

"I can see why you're upset, but so far it makes sense. They're trying to keep the circle of people who know about the investigation to a minimum. As bad as this looks, it means they don't have to explain it all to you, or count on your cooperation. It cuts the risk that one of us would repeat something and blow the whole operation."

Jim's composure was at its limits. "If this is all so logical, tell me why that dump they stuffed him in is bugged!" he shouted.

"What? Jim you're not making any sense. Are you sure about this?"

"Do I have to spell it out? Electronic surveillance. I found two before I bailed and I never got ten feet from the door. What the hell is going on? Tell me a fairy tale that explains that. I can't wait to hear it."

Alarm spread across Simon's face. "Blair didn't know? They'd never mentioned it?"

"Not a word, other than to not contact anyone in Major Crime."

"Let's sit down and think this through." Simon motioned Jim into the living room. "Why would they be listening in on Sandburg?" he said. "What purpose could it possibly serve? Not to mention the fact that they have no justification."

"Did they lie to us, Simon? Is this all a charade, and Sandburg's the one they're really investigating? Or are they setting him up to be a convenient scapegoat?"

*****

Blair was awake long before his alarm went off. The first view of his stall shower would have sent him screaming into the street if he hadn't been stark naked already. It looked like the set of a B horror movie. He took what was probably the fastest shower of his entire life.

After the shower, he couldn't face the kitchen and preparing some kind of breakfast. He dressed and headed for the nearest bus stop. After the third stop, he decided that riding the bus in a police uniform was seriously weird. Other passengers kept staring at him, apparently trying to figure out if he was for real or headed to an off-season costume party. He got off well short of his downtown destination. It was less stressful to walk the rest of the way.

Mercer had been very explicit in some of his instructions, and terribly vague in others. He was very clear in one area. Officer Sandburg was broke. He was to avoid buying lunch, or doing anything that indicated he had more than a driver's license in his wallet. Well, to hell with that. He was tired, frustrated, hungry, and a little scared. He hiked a few blocks to the nearest Starbuck's and bought a paper, scones and a large double espresso. He read every scrap of his paper, and did the crossword puzzle. At this moment, any delaying tactic sounded like a pretty good deal.

*****

The documents were waiting on his desk when he arrived, sealed in the special confidential envelopes that only IA used. Simon carefully placed each sheet on his desk so he could look at them all at once. The first was the official notice of transfer, moving Sandburg from Major Crime to Special Assignments. The second was the standard boilerplate from IA giving notification of pending disciplinary action. The third was a copy of the paperwork changing Sandburg's rank and pay rate. Nice that Ringold hadn't bothered to mention that little detail. They'd damn well better be planning on giving Sandburg his back pay when all this was over. The fourth was the one Simon was dreading. In ten minutes he'd be in the briefing room, reading this to the day shift.

He'd given Jim the option of not being present, and to his surprise, Jim had accepted the offer. They hadn't finished their clandestine conversation until well after midnight. Over his morning coffee, Simon realized he should have been a little sharper. Jim had agreed a little too quickly. He knew his detective. Obviously, Jim had schemes of his own, something maybe his Captain should be monitoring. It was too late now. Jim wasn't at the loft, and had his cell turned off.

*****

SPECIAL ASSIGNMENTS

DEPARTMENT OFFICE

If the basement location was any indication, it wasn't too special. Blair took a deep breath and went through the door.

The reception area was deserted. From the looks of it, someone had been in to start the day. The coffee maker on a cluttered counter had a fresh pot, and lights were on in the back offices. Blair went back to the main door and glanced down the hallway. There was no sign of activity.

Well, if he was supposed to be somewhere else, he didn't know about it. Blair went back inside and closed the door. He sat down in one of three straight-backed chairs along the wall and toyed with the idea of helping himself to some coffee. The whole place seemed so inhospitable, he decided not to bother.

He'd waited nearly twenty minutes before he heard the sound of footsteps in the hallway. The door was shoved open with a bang. A burly man, carrying several pastries, gave him a glance and headed for his desk. His blue uniform showed a Sergeant's rank. With his back still turned he barked out, "You Sandburg?"

"Yes, Sergeant...uh..."

"Owens." Jostling his food, the man tossed Blair an old fashioned time card. "You didn't clock in."

"I didn't know I was supposed to," Blair said, trying to keep his tone neutral. He fumbled for a pencil. By the time he located one, Owens was seated and gobbling a Danish.

"Sign in at 8:30," he said sharply. "You can make up the time on your lunch."

Blair looked at the clock. It showed twenty after. "But I've been here since eight."

"Your own damn fault you didn't clock in. Next time do it right," Owens snarled, wiping his sticky fingers on his uniform sleeve. "Maybe they don't bother with time cards in the fancy dancy world of Major Crime, but down here we do."

Blair stifled his anger and set the time card back on Owens' desk. Telling himself to relax, he settled into parade rest and waited for Owens to speak.

Owens tossed the time card into a basket behind his desk. "There's a locker room in the back you can use. Some of the guys do, some don't." He rooted around the stacks of papers on his desk. "Here," he said, waving some stapled sheets in Blair's direction. "You need to deliver DARE materials to all those locations. Now get out of here and get busy. We don't tolerate goldbricking. If I think you're taking advantage, I'll dock your card."

Blair tried to stay calm. "Where are the materials? I don't have a car. Do I need a requisition for the Motor Pool or something?"

"They're in boxes down the hall." Owens snorted in disdain. "Shit, boy, no car? No one comes here because they're winning awards, but what kind of a loser are you?" He reluctantly set down his second pastry and scrawled out the needed form. Owens shoved it across the desk. It was smeared with butter and a little doughnut glaze. Blair hated to even pick it up.

"Quit with the excuses already. Get to work."

Blair tried to keep a straight face and at least get to the hall before he lost it. He'd never seen Owens in his life, and the guy immediately assumed he'd be cutting corners. Angry and frustrated didn't even cover it. He should probably find the DARE stuff first, but staying in this dingy hallway within fifty feet of that philistine in blue wasn't going to happen. He decided to hike back over to the PD and check out a vehicle first. Maybe the walk would calm him down.

*****

"I don't believe it."

Joel Taggart's voice cut through the stunned silence. "I don't believe it, and I don't think you do either, Simon."

The other assembled members of Major Crime nodded in agreement. Shock was quickly being displaced by anger. Simon had expected this reaction. He knew his personnel. Just reading from the official script wasn't going to be enough. You didn't make Major Crime by being the kind of person to take things on face value. Every member of his team would voice their objections, loud and clear. To make matters worse, any one of them had the potential to mount their own well-meaning counterattack. The only option was to nip things in the bud.

"Let's get this straight, people," Simon said sternly. He waited to make eye contact with each of them. "An Internal Affairs investigation doesn't run on opinion polls. Furthermore, they don't open confidential files for a preview while an investigation is still in progress. Sandburg's been reassigned, and that's the end of your involvement."

"How is Blair supposed to defend himself?" Joel asked. His meaning was clear to everyone else in the room without saying it. How were THEY supposed to help their friend if they didn't know what was going on? Several heads nodded in agreement.

"Yeah," Henri chimed in. "We're with him every day. We'd know if something was going on."

"Considering Jim's - abilities - how would Sandy do anything improper?" Megan stated with a definite edge in her voice. Within this small inner circle, 'abilities' was a euphemism they all understood. "He'd know in a heartbeat. What does Ellison say?"

"That's enough!" Simon bellowed. "Ellison isn't saying anything, and from this moment on, neither are any of you. The guidelines are very clear. We'll have no contact and no discussion. Don't think I can't read your minds," he scolded. "This is one time I won't tolerate anything, and I mean anything, that plays fast and loose with what's in this directive." His answer was a sullen, stony silence. He was going to have to do better than this.

He deliberately softened his voice. "Listen, I understand how you feel. Before you storm out of here, think about this. The way I read it, this is a compromise. They could have suspended Sandburg, or worse, but they didn't." Simon's gut twisted as the lie tumbled off his tongue. "They've just reassigned him until this thing gets cleared up. If you go off trying to run some kind of rescue, asking questions and stirring things up, they might decide to cut him off completely." For a moment, Simon had hope. They seemed to be buying the 'this will be best for Sandburg' deflection.

"Do you know that for a fact, Simon?" Joel's face was bland as he asked the question, but his eyes told a different story.

Simon chided himself. He might have known that Taggart would filter through the empty reassurances and not be fooled. Anyone who thought Joel Taggart was just a good-natured, overgrown teddy bear of a man didn't know him well. "I think it's best if we follow the directive as it's written," Simon stated evenly.

Taggart stood up. "Will that be all, Captain?"

Simon nodded. Slowly, silently, his detectives filed out of the room. Simon stood quietly for a moment, his head bowed, disgusted by the current state of affairs and his own role in them.

****

Jim plunked his credit card down without hesitation. After years of being teased about being allergic to electronics other than a decent stereo, Sandburg would be proud. He'd spent all morning, gone to five different stores and conversed with an uncounted number of technology geeks, but he'd found the perfect solution to their communication problem. The text messaging feature on the two phones meant they could even use it in Blair's scuzzy apartment, listening devices be damned. Jim didn't even look at the total as he signed the receipt. He really didn't care.

One problem solved. The next was to get a phone to Sandburg without anyone knowing. That meant he needed to find out where they were actually keeping his partner, information he definitely couldn't ask for outright. Jim considered that for a moment. He really wasn't all that clear what Special Assignments actually did, or how they coordinated with the rest of the Cascade PD.

Okay, so who to ask?

Jim decided to start at the Court House. He could always invent an excuse for being there if he had to.

Blair was nowhere to be found at the courthouse. After a little discreet checking and some not-so-discrete listening, Jim located the officer who nominally ran Special Assignments. Special Assignments was reputed to be a dead end for personnel who deserved to be fired, but for some reason couldn't be let go. One look at Owens confirmed everything Jim had ever heard or suspected.

He followed Owens to the break room. The man settled down with a double sized mug of coffee and a magazine, giving every indication that he wasn't hustling back to his job anytime soon. Jim decided to take the risk and headed for the basement. He anticipated doing some darting and dodging, but the hallway was deserted. He sensed no heartbeats behind the door marked Special Assignments.

It took less than thirty seconds to survey the four-room suite. Besides the reception area with what must be Owens' desk, there was a locker room, a large file room, and a third room that contained nothing but a folding table and a couple of chairs. More important to Jim, there was no back exit. The only alternative to the main stairway was a fire exit at the end of the hall. It would be easy for someone to catch him down here snooping around. He would need to keep alert for anyone heading down the basement stairs.

Owens' desk was overflowing with paper. The man was a slob. It took several minutes of careful searching for Jim to learn that Special Assignments currently consisted of only four officers. Owens ran the day shift. Besides Blair, there was one other patrolman working days, primarily covering the weekends. Jim vaguely remembered the guy's name being mentioned. Rumor was he had a problem with drinking on duty. A third apparently sat on his ass all night in case someone needed a low-level go-for.

The duty roster was what Jim needed. He finally located it in one of the desk drawers, buried under a half eaten bag of potato chips. So, they had Blair out running stuff to elementary schools. How convenient. That was one way to keep Sandburg isolated, where no one could reach him. Ringold probably figured that if they kept Blair on ice for a week or so, no one would bother to find out how he was doing. Jim tossed the clipboard back into the desk. Anyone who believed that didn't understand the internal relationships of Major Crime.

Jim slipped out, taking the fire exit just as a precaution. Blair could be at any one of twenty schools in the area. He obviously wasn't checking in with Owens. Still, to run all over town, he needed a car, and Blair didn't have use of the Volvo.

Jim smiled. IA was trying to make it tough, but not tough enough. Vehicles had to be signed out. According to regulation, Blair would have to radio in his location periodically. With that knowledge in mind, Jim headed for the motor pool; retracing the steps his partner had taken a few hours earlier.

*****

Blair wiped sweat off his brow. Even with a hand truck, this was a long way to cart boxes, and it had taken two trips. Leave it to a school to house items in the most inconvenient place possible.

Pushing the empty hand truck in front of him, he reminded himself that he'd done the right thing. His timing had been impeccably awful. He'd arrived just as the students were going to and from recess. Compared to the university or even the police station, an elementary school office at recess was total chaos. The school secretary was very sweet and very overwhelmed. The principal was out, the custodian on break. He didn't have the heart to dump a tower of boxes amongst the skinned knees and ringing phones.

He dropped the hand truck off outside the office, waved, and the secretary smiled back gratefully. All things being equal, it was better than a scowl from the human doughnut vaporizer, Owens. His second encounter with his new supervisor had been worse. In Blair's mind, he was definitely a man to avoid.

Seated in the police cruiser, he checked Twin Pines Elementary off his list. Three down, seventeen to go, but who was counting? He had crammed the car with as many boxes as possible just to evade another trip downtown. He could do at least four more schools before he was forced to return for another load. With any luck, that would take the better part of the afternoon.

He was scouring the map, trying to locate his next school when the alarm on his watch went off. Damn. He was supposed to call his new best friend, Lieutenant Mercer. Blair fingered the watch for a moment. It wasn't expensive or anything, but it had been a gift from Jim. He'd brought it home the same day Blair had nearly missed a court hearing, along with some good natured teasing about his rookie partner's tendency to lose track of time when absorbed in a project. How typically Jim. He was all rules and procedures on the outside, concerned and thoughtful on the inside.

Blair pulled himself out of the pleasant reverie. Mercer probably wouldn't be too tolerant if he missed his check in time. He hated this assignment, but if cooperating would make it go more quickly, he'd cooperate. He could be the golden boy of cooperation. Reluctantly, Blair dug out the cell phone he'd be given by IA the previous afternoon and made his call.

*****

It worked perfectly, but not exactly the way he had planned. Under the ruse of checking out a vehicle for himself, Jim talked the duty officer into checking on the status of a particular vehicle. In his absence, Jim had no trouble getting the information on the cruiser Blair was using. He'd called in just minutes before, clocking out for lunch at a place not too far away. Jim made a mad dash for his own truck. With any luck, he could catch Blair before he left.

On the drive over, he wondered a bit about Blair's choice for lunch. Sandburg normally avoided fast food restaurants like the plague. From far down the busy street, his eyes were searching for the vehicle Blair had been issued. As soon as he spotted it, he threw caution to the winds and stepped on the gas. Establishing some reliable communication with his isolated partner was first and foremost on his mind.

At the last second, he jerked the truck back into traffic, cursing his own inattention. Blair was there, alright. Standing right next to him, yammering away, was Lieutenant Mercer. Jim drove on by, praying that his erratic driving hadn't attracted Mercer's attention. He stared anxiously into the rear view mirror. Mercer's back was now turned to him. Maybe he hadn't blown it after all.

Jim turned on the next block and slowly circled back, parking by the curb. His heart sank. Mercer was still there. Minute by minute, Jim's frustration grew as he watched the two men continue their conversation. Jim couldn't do anything to catch his partner's attention while the IA officer was nearby. All he could do was try to listen.

*****

"I've done everything you asked me to do. I don't know why you're so bent out of shape."

"How many calls did you make?"

"I told you, Lieutenant, nada, zip, zero."

"Who's tried to talk with you?"

"You're right. Those elementary kids were hot on my trail. Questions, questions, questions. I couldn't take it. I told them everything."

"This isn't a joke, Sandburg. This is an important investigation. There will be serious consequences if this gets blown on your end."

"Trust me, man, I don't consider anything about this as a joke. I'm sharing my bed with rats and roaches. You took my car. I can't even make coffee in the morning. What else do you want from me?"

The IA officer gave him a skeptical look. "Banks has made the announcement to your former department. If your colleagues try to talk to you, you need to cut them off."

"So you say. Other than to get this bucket of bolts, I haven't been near the station. What do you expect Major Crime to do? Launch a search of elementary schools trying to find me? Get real. They have jobs to do."

"You just make sure you stick to the program."

"Honestly, I don't see the point. How am I supposed to further the investigation when I don't even know what's going on?"

"This has been explained to you already, Sandburg. A university guy like you shouldn't be such a slow learner," Mercer said sarcastically.

Blair ignored the insult. "Maybe I'm only slow when it comes to IA. Humor me. Explain it again."

"Let's just say the guy you're replacing wasn't the brightest bulb in the chandelier. He didn't even know he was being used."

"Like you said, I'm the university guy. Why would they assume I'm stupid and consider me a safe replacement?"

"They probably won't. That's the point. They just have to believe they have someone who is desperate enough to do what he's told and won't rock the boat. In their eyes, you're not in a position to raise a stink. They have plenty to threaten you with."

"In their eyes, or in yours?"

"Well, I suppose it doesn't really matter, does it? Works for me both ways."

Blair let that comment drop. As much as he hated it, what Mercer said was true. He had no credibility. He could report the scandal of the century directly to the Chief of Police and they'd blow him off.

"Are we done here?" he asked. "I have important boxes to deliver."

"Yeah, we're done. Call in again when you get off duty. I'll swing by your place." He wadded up the remains of his lunch and set it on the hood of Blair's cruiser. "Dump that in the trash, will you?"

*****

Jim tensed in anticipation. The meeting was breaking up. Blair was walking toward the trash, and Mercer was already in his car. "Drive off, suit boy," Jim muttered. "Drive off and get out of the way." Mercer did exactly the opposite. He got in his car, started it up, and waited for Blair to return.

When Blair headed for the exit, Mercer pulled out right behind him. The two cars disappeared from Jim's field of view. He couldn't even hustle off to flag Blair down. Without knowing which direction Mercer had gone, he might cross his path and reveal his presence. Jim waited a moment before shifting the truck into gear. He couldn't guess where Blair was headed. The moment had passed, and he knew it.

*****

"Joel, can we talk with you for a minute?"

Joel looked up. Henri Brown loomed over his small desk, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Megan and Rafe were standing by the door, looking in their direction expectantly.

Joel took a quick look towards Simon's office. Simon was hard at work, not paying any particular attention to the bullpen. Joel nodded, but when he got to the door, he waved Rafe back. "Someone needs to stay." Rafe's face fell, clearly unwilling to be left out. "Simon will notice," Joel said simply. "I'd tell Megan to stay, but she'd take me," he added with a smile. "Never insult a lady."

The remaining three ducked into a conference room down the hall. "No more jokes. What do you know about Sandburg?" Henri said abruptly.

"No more than you do. We all sat in the same meeting."

"You didn't believe it any more than we did, mate," Megan said sharply. Her Aussie accent was always more pronounced when she was irritated. "Sandy's vanished. I've called that Special Whatever department and no one will tell me anything. And where's Ellison? He was on the duty board for this morning."

"Blair hasn't vanished, and Ellison makes perfect sense," Joel said calmly. "Just what would you be doing if he was here?"

"By now? Probably yelling at him to tell me the bloody truth," Megan said impatiently.

"Exactly. Which is why Simon probably told him not to show up today," Joel said.

"But..." Henri started.

"...someone has to do something," Megan finished.

"And what makes you think someone isn't?" Joel said coolly. He let that statement sink in.

"What?" Henri demanded, but Joel was already headed out of the room.

"Not now, children," Joel said patiently. "Not today, maybe not tomorrow."

"That's not good enough, Joel," Megan protested. "We're family here. We deserve to know. You can count on us to help."

"The impatience of youth," Joel said, shaking his head. "I can't talk you into just going to lunch and forgetting about this for now?"

"No way," Henri said emphatically. He stood with his arms crossed, partially blocking the doorway. Taking size into consideration, most people would read his stance as intimidating, but Joel knew he was just upset.

"Ever seen a bullfight, H? On television? Tell me, what does the matador do when the bull makes the first charge?"

Confusion clouded Henri's face, looking totally lost at the abrupt change of topic. He looked quickly at Megan for help. She shrugged. "Matadors? Uh, they wave that cape thing."

"What else?" Joel prodded.

Henri still wasn't following. "They step aside," he said hesitantly, more as a question than an answer.

"Right. You never dig your feet in and take the charge unless you want the bull to run over you. Translation, you don't go head to head when you know you're going to lose. You wait until the second pass, or the third. You come in from the side." Joel patted Henri on the shoulder and slipped past him without another word.

"You yanks are a crazy bunch," Megan said, watching him go. "I think he just told us something important."

"The sly old dog," Henri said. "Considering Captain Banks is our own departmental raging bull right now, I'd say he did."

*****

Jim started up the truck, totally disgusted. He'd have to come up with another way to contact Blair. If all else failed, he could resort to the fire escape, but he hoped to avoid that. They might need that route for emergencies. He checked the side mirror before pulling out of his parking space, and all he saw was Blair, waving at him with a grin on his face. Jim vaulted out of the truck while Blair pulled in right behind him.

"I saw you when you drove by," Blair said. "Nice move there, almost wiping out the little old lady in the Buick."

"Did not. How are you doing, Chief?"

"Other than trying to keep a straight face with Mercer, okay. The guy's such a jerk."

"I heard part of it. What about Owens? Did he give you any trouble?"

"How do you know about him?" Blair asked, before the obvious answer dawned on him. "You went to the courthouse? Jim, are you nuts?"

"No, I had a perfectly good reason for tracking you down, and by the way, you didn't answer my question." Jim reached into the truck. "I got these for us. What IA doesn't know won't hurt them." He handed the phone to Blair. "When you're in that rat hole of an apartment you can use the text messaging. The instructions are in the box, but I set it up with your usual password and put in the numbers I thought you'd need."

Blair gave a low whistle. "Jim, these aren't cheap. How much do I owe you? This is great, but you know I can't really afford this right now."

"Forget it. I got one, too."

"But, I just can't." Blair held the phone out, shaking his head.

Jim gently pushed the hand away. "Take it. I probably need it more than you do. I've got a really bad feeling about this. Nothing really hangs together."

"What do you mean? Is there something you're not telling me?"

"I'm not sure." Jim scuffed his feet along the ground. "I can't explain it very well. Put it this way. Back in the old days, when I was a Ranger, if one of your guys said they smelled an ambush, you paid real close attention, whether you knew why or not. It's the same here. Leave it for now. What else do you need?"

"Shit, you don't want to see that list. Honestly, I think we'd better keep a low profile for a couple of days. I have another meeting with Mercer after work. I get the feeling he plans on checking to make sure I leave the place pretty stark."

"Stark, huh?" Jim said, letting his anger bubble over. "The place needs to be burned down. Fumigated at the least."

"Calm down, Jim. It's not permanent. Look, maybe this weekend I can sneak some things in. I think there's a toaster boxed up with my old stuff in the basement. Do you think anyone still makes those coffee pots that you put on a stove? That would be cool."

Jim rubbed at his forehead. "I can't believe we're discussing kitchen utensils as a major improvement in your life."

"Look, the phone is more than enough. That was really thoughtful." He tucked the phone into his pocket. "I really should get going. Mercer might hassle me about an unexplained block of time. Are you going to the station this afternoon?"

"Yeah," Jim said reluctantly, shaking his head. "I'm not looking forward to it. People are going to - say stuff. I don't want to listen to it and not set them straight."

"Keep your cool, Jim. Pretend it's any other undercover assignment." Blair slapped him on the shoulder. "The more believable it is, maybe the faster it will go."

*****

Jim tried to ignore the anxious looks from his colleagues and went straight into Simon's office. He wasn't in the mood for discussion. Simon looked up wearily as he came in. The discarded wrappers on the desk told Jim that his commander had settled for stale sandwiches from the vending machines for lunch. He motioned Jim to a seat.

"It's not good," Simon said quietly, without fanfare. "I pushed real hard and got nowhere." He gestured to a stack of folders sitting on his desk. "I've pulled everything Sandburg's touched since he went to the academy. I crosschecked against every rumor I've heard, made a lot of calls off the record. I can't find anything that IA would be remotely interested in. I'm as suspicious as you are, but for now, I think we have to take Ringold at face value."

"I went over my place with a fine-toothed comb when I got back," Jim said. "I thought, maybe it was me, not Sandburg. That splitting us up was a backhand way to get at me. I came up empty. I've been real careful since that thing with the Archers. IA doesn't have any reason to look my direction."

"Jim, are you sure about the bugs at Sandburg's place?"

"I'm sure, Simon," Jim said, slightly offended. "This isn't idle paranoia. They aren't the kind of thing you find casually."

"It just boggles the mind. It's hard enough to even get a wiretap out of a judge these days. I can't imagine them having a warrant, and if they don't, any case they might build would go straight to the dumpster." Simon shook his head. "I did get one concession from Ringold. He agreed to give me a weekly update. After what you told me last night, I'm not sure I can trust him, but it's something." He tossed his glasses onto the desk. "God, I'm tired."

All his many complaints and worries stilled on the tip of Jim's tongue. The direct impact on Blair and himself had been his only concern. He'd given almost no thought to how the news would play in the rest of Major Crime. "Simon, did you get any sleep at all after I left?"

"Not much. You?"

"The same. I'm sorry, sir, I probably shouldn't have barged in on you like that. It could have waited until morning."

Simon shook his head. "Jim, I would have jumped you for waiting. The most important lesson I've ever learned about command is to take care of your own people. Right now I'm sure as hell not taking care of business, and that keeps me up nights. It wouldn't have mattered whether you showed up at my door or not."

"Would a window be better next time," Jim asked with a small, sly grin.

"Ellison," Simon barked. "You'd try the patience of a saint."

The two men let the silence wrap around them. "I guess I better go work on that carjacking, sir," Jim said finally. His earlier plan to tell Simon about his morning was scrapped. Simon didn't need to be burdened with the knowledge his activities extended further than a solo climb of Sandburg's fire escape.

"One more thing, Jim. There are plenty of rumors flying around. I've had a couple of calls, asking what the straight story is. I'm sure some of them IA planted deliberately. You keep a tight rein on your temper, you hear me?"

Jim nodded. He couldn't bring himself to promise more.

*****

Stopped at an intersection a few blocks from downtown, Blair congratulated himself. His personal store of worthless information now included the location of every elementary in Cascade. Next time Cascade had a crime wave in grades K through six, he'd be all over it.

He'd actually made better time in the afternoon. After some creative packing, he'd needed only one run back to the courthouse to reload, and the schools had been closer together. No one needed extra help, so everything had been a simple drop-off. Now he regretted the efficiency. He was headed back with time to spare. It was one thing to be exiled with a bunch of boxes. It was another thing to deal with whatever people were saying about him, or worse, directly to him.

The cruiser needed to be dropped off, which meant he'd be doing the station first. The motor pool was usually buzzing with activity around change of shifts. Definitely nowhere to hide. He took a moment to calm himself before locking up the car. If Jim could keep his cool, so could he. At least he only had to deal with what people said to his face. His partner would have to overlook what he could overhear, which was a considerably longer list.

With any luck, Andy Farmer was still at the main desk. Farmer had given him some strange looks earlier, but he hadn't said anything. Whatever his reasons, Blair appreciated his restraint. Andy was there, but so were a gaggle of other officers bringing vehicles back for the day. For all the world Blair wanted to double back and wait until the crowd thinned out. Instead, he pushed on. If it didn't happen now, it would happen later.

"Hey, Andy," he said, nodding an acknowledgement to the others loitering around. Blair inwardly cursed the procedures. Since he didn't take a patrol car out on a regular basis, there were all kinds of forms to sign. He scribbled in the odometer reading. "The tank's on three quarters. Do you want me to fill it up, or is that okay?"

"No. That's fine. No other problems?" Blair shook his head. Andy made a couple of quick check marks on the forms and slid the clipboard across for him to sign.

"That's not what I hear, Sandburg." Blair's hand paused in mid-signature. The voice continued. "You've got plenty of problems. I hear you got your ass kicked out of Major Crime, just like the uni. About time somebody caught you red-handed."

"Thanks, Andy," Blair said, returning the paperwork. He smiled, pointedly ignoring the comments.

"You need it again tomorrow? I can hold onto it so you can have the same one." Andy asked.

Blair appreciated his attempts to smooth things over. He could sense the other men drawing close, hemming him in. He struggled to keep his tone normal. "I don't know what the duty roster says for tomorrow. I'll give you a call if I need it again. Thanks for asking, Andy."

He turned to go, but his path out was blocked. "Of course you don't know," the voice continued. "Maybe by tomorrow everybody will see the light and they'll take your badge, period."

Blair quickly calculated the odds. Four of them, one of him, and Andy unofficially neutral. He schooled himself to make note of the name bars on the uniforms. He didn't know any of the relatively young officers. "There's no point to this, guys," he said quietly. "You've had your say, let it go at that." He tried to step around and get by. The men moved closer.

"No way. This is vital information here. I want to hear all about how the professor cheated on exams."

"I heard it was drugs. Not even the mighty Ellison would overlook creative chemistry." That comment came with a shove for emphasis.

Another shove. "You're a disgrace to all of us."

"Enough, already," Blair said angrily, shaking off the grasping hands. "You guys want to beat the shit out of me? Go for it. Let's see you show all that cop superiority, four on one." He glanced up and waved off to a nearby corner. "Be sure to smile pretty, though. Make sure the security tape gets your best side." Silently, he thanked Jim for the casual lesson he'd given on security one night, explaining the logic behind the camera arrangements.

The hostile group around him stilled. Blair elbowed his way by, praying that none of them would jump him while his back was turned. The men drifted away, muttering threats and "shoulda dones" among themselves.

Andy Farmer, unnoticed by anyone, breathed a sigh of relief and set the phone receiver down gently. He had one more number to dial, but he would have done it. He assured himself that he would have gone ahead and done the right thing. Now the crisis was over. He didn't need to get involved.

Damn, wrong was wrong, and he never thought of himself as a coward. He didn't know Ellison from the man in the moon, but he and Henri Brown played ball together. He caught a last glimpse of Sandburg, hiking back to the courthouse on foot and redialed the number for Major Crime.

*****

Jim kept hearing Simon's voice, telling him not to lose his temper. Standard captain-speak. If Simon only knew what he was asking, how hard it really was to hear things not intended for your ears without responding.

The inner circle of Major Crime hadn't been a problem. No questions and a lot of quiet support, offers of help and a few reassurances that everything would be okay. They meant well, and Jim didn't fault them. If the roles had been reversed, he would have done the same. The hardest moment had been admitting that Sandburg wasn't staying at the loft. Based on past history, Connor definitely unsheathed her claws for that one. Jim honestly couldn't blame her.

His original plan was to get the hell out of Dodge and hit the streets, working on his carjacking case. The fates conspired against him. The carjacking ring had struck three more times that morning while Jim had been chasing down cell phones. Chief Warren stepped in and installed a taskforce before he could escape or get Simon to assign someone else. Instead of a solitary afternoon chasing bad guys, he was stuck in a room with a cross-section of Cascade's finest. As Sandburg would say, not all of the natives were friendly.

Jim counted to ten.

He counted to ten at least ten or fifteen times, and that was only for the things asked or spoken directly. The other whispers, down the hall, behind his back when he passed, had him ready to lash out for the smallest excuse. He'd expected improvement once he got to the actual meeting. He was wrong. The original officers on the case were still droning on about the leads they had followed. The two guys from vice thought they had related information, and kept interrupting, dragging the whole thing out. Not only was it a colossal waste of time, the private side conversations were driving him nuts. Two guys at the end of the table, bored with the meeting, were carrying on a written exchange that Jim could read, plain as day.

No Sandburg. True?

Gospel.

No bailout this time?

No. MC is po'd.

Ellison?

You asking him? NOT ME!!!!

What did S do?

Academy exams. Drugs????

Remember Golden?

Jim forced his eyes forward. Counting to ten wasn't cutting it. If he didn't get out on the street real quick, he was going to clean house. Simon would have to live with it.

On to Part Two