All the shock and frustration of the past several days erupted with such fury that Jim was on Crilly before the other cops even knew what was happening. His fist smashed into the smug face, and he heard bones breaking -- whether in his hand or Crilly's cheek, he didn't know or care. The oilman screamed, falling back, trying to cover his shattered face with his cuffed hands, but Jim drove him back, fists pummeling, his expression deadly. Crilly fell onto a desktop, his wild tumble scattering its contents in all directions. Desperate to get away from the pain hammering at his face and body, he tried to roll off, but Jim never gave an inch.

The cops were all over the two men, trying fervently to separate them. It took six of them, plus a stunning crack to the head from a truncheon, to break them apart at last, Jim staggering under the blow. Six officers dragged him back and held him as his rage exhausted itself in futile struggle.

Crilly whimpered on the desk, all of his bravado disintegrating after the savage attack. Blood poured from his nose and split cheek and rushed over his hands as he vainly tried to contain it. "You broke my nose!" he whined nasily. Shock was momentarily keeping the rest of his pains at bay -- very soon, the fractured cheek would make itself known.

"Where are they?" Jim demanded, his eyes never leaving Crilly. He had stopped struggling against the officers who held him, but the look on his face suggested they wouldn't be able to restrain him if Crilly didn't come up with the answers. The rage was still within him, tamped down now with the fire in his belly, but it wouldn't stay buried for long.

Sandoval, shaken by the fury of Jim's assault but finally confident the situation was back under control, leaned very close to Crilly's ear and murmured, "Yes, where are they?"

Crilly saw no sympathy from any quarter. "I don't know. She gave the money to her boyfriend, and he left with it as soon as she heard the helicopters."

Jim's scowl darkened; here was a player he didn't know about. "Boyfriend?"

"Yeah, Carl somebody," Crilly answered, eager to avoid any further punishment. "He was the middle man who set up the deal."

"Where did they go?" Sandoval asked.

"They were supposed to go out by chopper, but they changed their minds when you showed up," Crilly explained, finally starting to feel the grinding of the bones in his cheek. "They took a jeep and headed northeast, toward the Chopek Pass." This last was accompanied by a loud moan of pain. "Oh, man, I need a doctor bad."

"That's almost three hundred miles of overgrown ruts," Sandoval exclaimed in disbelief, ignoring his prisoner's plea. He looked at Jim, who had been released by the officers holding him now that the big Norte Americano cop appeared to be under control. "There is only the one road, which forks at the mouth of El Cañon del Tigre."

Jim nodded, remembering the Army briefings that had preceded his mission to Peru. He'd never been that far south, his activities relegated mostly to the vast forest surrounding the pass itself, but he knew the area from maps. "The northern-most route peters out after a few miles at an old archaeological dig," he recalled. The main northeast route had been used by mercenaries and guerillas until Jim, at the time an Army ranger, and a determined cadre of Chopek warriors had taken and held the pass against all who dared trespass through it. Rough country, difficult to traverse on foot, much less by vehicle; after so many years, the road would be virtually impassable.

"Yes, but both roads are clearly marked on the survey maps," Sandoval pointed out. "They would know which one to take.

"I'm going after them," Jim said grimly. "I'll need a helicopter and a pilot."

Sandoval agreed readily. "Of course. You will carry a transponder, so that we can find you again." He weighed the possibilities. "Unless you make a quick capture, the helicopter won't have enough fuel to stay with you. It will have to fly back to the Cyclops site to refuel. It will be hours before it can return to pick you up."

Jim nodded. "No problem. I don't have any place special I need to be." Except with my partner.

Some of his thought must have reflected in his face, because Sandoval commented, "You are worried about your friend."

"Yeah. She tried to kill him once; there's nothing to stop her from doing a better job of it this time."

"Then I see we have some urgency. You will need proper equipment for your foray into the jungle."

"Thanks, that was going to be my next question."

Crilly's moans were louder now, and conversation dropped off. "Damnit, Ellison, I'll have your badge for this," he complained through his pain. To Sandoval, he practically begged, "I need a doctor!"

"Yes, you shall see a doctor," Sandoval agreed amiably. To Jim, he said, "I understand this man is wanted in the United States?"

The question had a strange edge to it, and Jim faltered just a moment before he answered, "What gave you that idea?"

"A misunderstanding with Mr. Sandburg, perhaps," the Lima cop murmured. He looked at Crilly with feigned sympathy. "Welcome to the Peruvian legal system, Mr. Crilly. Our wheels of justice grind very slowly, I'm afraid, but I'm certain your case, and your complaints against Detective Ellison, will be heard." He smiled, but there was no friendliness in the expression. "Eventually."

Crilly's voice rose to a shriek. "No! You can't keep me here! I demand to see the American consul. I want a lawyer!" Two cops dragged him none too gently off the desk and hauled him upright.

"Perhaps I should read you your 'rights', just as they do on American television," Sandoval sneered in return. "Your embassy will not help you -- you have conspired to commit a crime against the Peruvian people. You will face justice in our courts, not your own." He dismissed the prisoner with an irritated wave of his hand, and the officers took Crilly away, his beseeching cries fading as the squad room doors closed behind them.

Satisfied, Sandoval observed, "I doubt that man will enjoy another moment of freedom in his lifetime."

Jim had already dismissed Crilly from his mind. "I'll need a weapon, too," he commented, a list of necessary items forming in his mind.

"Of course," Sandoval agreed. "I'm certain we will be able to provide everything you require. Let us see, shall we?"

The tactical squad had what he needed. As Jim changed into jungle-camouflage utilities and found boots in his size, Sandoval sat glumly on a nearby bench. "I am sorry I lost your friend."

Unfortunately, he's easy to lose, Jim thought. "What happened?"

"He led us to the nerve gas," Sandoval explained, pride evident in his voice. "Crilly had purchased it from Barnes. He intended to use it to wipe out the Chopek in order to open the reserve to drilling. Or at least that was Mr. Sandburg's theory. As you know, I haven't questioned Mr. Crilly yet. If the doctor has to wire his jaws closed, such a task may prove even more challenging."

Jim was not the least contrite. "How did Sandburg know where the VX had gone?"

Sandoval looked surprised. "I don't know. I had hoped you would be able to tell me."

Jim just shook his head. He had no idea how Blair had figured out where Barnes had taken the VX, much less what she'd intended to do with it. "How did she get her hands on him?"

Sandoval sighed and shrugged eloquently. "Like Mr. Crilly said, we thought she and her boyfriend had escaped by jeep to the road leading toward the Chopek pass. Mr. Sandburg was looking a little ill, and so I suggested he wait in the helicopter. Unfortunately, the fugitives had not left the camp. He was alone and unguarded when they captured him. We searched the camp and nearby trees, and the Army searched an even wider area from the air. But the jungle is very big and very dark at night, and the fugitives were cautious. They traveled without headlights, or else they parked under cover until the helicopter had passed overhead. I am sorry."

"Not your fault." I'm the one who let him get killed in the first place. Finally outfitted for the hard travel ahead, he tossed his other clothes into a locker Sandoval had provided.

Sandoval took a thick envelope from his pocket and held it out. "I almost forgot. Mr. Sandburg asked me to mail this to you."

Jim looked at the bulky envelope for a minute, his fingertips hesitating the merest inch from accepting it. Whatever it was, it would have nothing relevant to Jim's current plans, because Blair had no idea Jim was in Peru. Therefore, it had to be something personal. He withdrew his hand. "Hang onto it, OK? We'll pick it up on our way back through," he said. "Now, how about that weapon?"

Sandoval took him to the armory. The weapons were old but looked serviceable. Jim was issued a Walther PPK 3.80, not normally a weapon of choice. Clearly, it had seen some hard use, but a quick look down the barrel assured him the weapon was clean. The spare bullets gave him a long moment's pause; boxed in plain white cardboard, they were obviously reloads. He didn't complain -- the cops were being as generous as they could and obviously had the same bureaucratic budget nightmares as every other police force in the world. But he wanted a little extra insurance. Debating and rejecting an automatic rifle, he thoughtfully considered a military-style crossbow. It was smaller and much more menacing than its native equivalent. Constructed of diecast aluminum for strength, it featured a pistol grip for easy handling and fired steel-tipped aluminum bolts that traveled at over 200 feet per second with devastating accuracy.

"You are familiar with such a weapon?" Sandoval asked with interest.

Jim only nodded, and added the crossbow to his inventory, along with three loaded spare magazines for the pistol and a box of loose ammo. He didn't know what sort of weapons Barnes or her boyfriend might be carrying, and he wanted to be prepared. "I'm ready."

"Then let us depart," Sandoval agreed. "It is a long flight to the Cyclops site, with an even longer flight to follow the road."

 

Blair alternately clung to the dashboard or the passenger door in an effort to avoid slamming around inside the wildly rocking jeep. He was grateful for the dawn and a chance to actually see where they were going, because he hadn't been able to make out a thing in the pitch black of the jungle night. He knew Alex could see just fine, but he had still worried she'd misjudge a pothole or a dip and lose control. With his left wrist handcuffed to the seat frame, his arm and shoulder had been wrenched badly during all the bashing around. He thought the restraint was a useless bit of extravagance anyway, because he'd had no place to escape to in the darkness. "Would you slow down, please!" he shouted after the jeep jolted through another rut, slamming his other shoulder into the doorframe. "There's no one following us!"

Alex glanced at him, but obligingly stopped. Her head was pounding after a long night of using her enhanced vision, and she was grateful for a brief respite.

"How's your head?" Blair asked, not really concerned for her well being but nervous because they'd stopped. He didn't know what she planned to do next.

"It hurts," she admitted. "Do you have any aspirin in that pack of yours?"

"Yes," Blair answered, reaching for it.

Alex batted his hand away and reached for the pack herself, rummaging through it until she found aspirin and bottled water. She swallowed a couple of tablets.

She offered him the water, and he took it, surprised by her thoughtfulness. "Thank you." He took a drink and handed it back. She screwed the top on and slipped the bottle back into the pack.

"Where are we going?" he asked. "There's nothing up this road."

Alex smiled, her perfect teeth gleaming whitely. "To the pyramid."

Blair closed his eyes to picture a map of the region. "It's pretty worthless from a purely scientific viewpoint. As far as I know, it's badly decayed, and artifact thieves gave it a thorough going over back in the '30's or '40's sometime."

"Not that pyramid," Alex explained quietly. "The one you mentioned -- the Temple of the Sentinel."

Blair was shocked for a moment, and then he could not stifle a nervous laugh. Incredulously, he exclaimed, "Alex, it's not here! The temple is somewhere in Mexico, for cryin' out loud, in the mountains near the Bay of Campeche." Abruptly, he realized he'd just ended any potential usefulness to his captor. A cold knot of fear, the first actual fear he'd felt since his kidnapping, formed in his gut. He realized the fragility of the thread by which his life was hanging.

Instead, Alex shook her head. "There's another one."

The fear faded, overshadowed now by curiosity. "Another one?" He'd never heard of another Temple of the Sentinel, although it seemed possible, probable even, that more than one existed. "How do you know?"

She breathed deeply, savoring the redolent morning air. "I can feel it," she answered, her tone almost exultant with anticipation.

In those four words, Blair heard an undertone of obsession. "OK," he agreed mildly, deciding it would be very unwise to provoke her. "When we find it, what do you expect to do?"

Her eyes glittered as they turned toward him. "I want to find the secret of Sentinel power," she explained softly, her thoughts already dreaming the possibilities. "There's more to it than five heightened senses. I just know there is. Ever since you explained some of it to me, I could feel this need growing inside me, a need to find out more, to find out what it all means."

"Forty-two," Blair murmured.

She frowned. "What?"

"That was the answer," Blair replied. "To Life, the Universe, and Everything." She still didn't get it. "It was a kooky science fiction show," he explained at last. "They had the answer, but they could never find the right question for it to make sense. So the answer was useless."

She sounded faintly irritated. "I don't know what you mean."

"It means you don't know the right questions," Blair said. "You can't move forward with your Sentinel skills, because you've perverted the ones you already possess. A sentinel works to protect the tribe, not harm it. You have to make a commitment to become a sentinel in the truest sense, and you're way too late to begin that journey."

Her laughter was brittle. "I'm supposed to undergo some sort of religious transformation?" she chuckled derisively. "Some mystical witch doctor is going to judge my worth, and punish me for being a bad girl?"

Briefly, Blair thought of the Shaman in his visions. "Maybe something like that," he admitted, uncertainty strong in his voice. Maybe he and Alex were destined to be punished together, because Blair's greatest failure had begun the moment he'd first met her.

Abruptly, her tone became cold. "That's why you're along," she said. "You're going to help me unravel the mystery."

Blair was surprised to realize he wasn't afraid any longer. "And then what?" he asked quietly. "You'll kill me?"

She didn't answer. Instead, she started the engine again and put the jeep in gear.

 

It was mid-morning when the police helicopter passed over the Cyclops drilling site. Jim stood braced in the open cargo door of the chopper as it hugged the treetops. A safety line secured him so he couldn't fall out, but it wouldn't prevent painful injury if he got knocked around in sudden turbulence, so he kept a firm grip on the open door. His eyes scanned the faint glimpses of road that appeared occasionally through the thick canopy of trees, but so far there had been no sign of the jeep carrying Blair and Alex.

Sandoval wasn't sanguine about their chances as he watched the big American policeman lean dangerously outward to watch the jungle below. How could he hope to see through the heavy umbrella of trees? The furtive jeep would certainly hear the chopper first and stop to hide as it flew over. It would be nearly impossible to locate such a small vehicle.

The pilot sought to follow the route of the road, but the dense rain forest made the task difficult, and the road itself was badly overgrown and sometimes barely distinguishable even in those rare moments when it was visible.

"We will have to turn back soon," the policeman standing next to Jim told him after listening through his headset to the pilot's report. He was the second officer and winch operator. "We are getting low on fuel."

Jim nodded absently, hiding his irritation. A moment later, he pointed. "There!"

Sandoval moved forward tentatively to the doorway, clinging to his own safety line with a fierce grip despite the harness that secured him. "Where?" he asked, his voice a tinny crackle in Jim's headset. "I don't see anything."

Jim pointed again. "About a half mile ahead. I saw the jeep through the trees."

The police Captain and the second officer strained to see, and then Sandoval caught a glimpse of something metallic. "Yes! I see them."

Jim winced at the excited shout in his headset. "Is there a place where we can land?" he asked, knowing the answer already.

The second policeman shook his head. "The pilot says we have to turn back now."

"No!" Jim shot back. "Get in front of the jeep and lower me down on the cable."

"That is too risky!" the man objected.

"Just do it," Sandoval ordered, knowing any objection to Jim's demands was useless. He'd seen the man parachute into the wilderness to save a friend; he certainly expected no less now.

Jim was already shrugging into his pack and securing the crossbow across his shoulder. A moment later, he reached for the winch and cable. The helicopter swept over the fleeing jeep, and Jim watched in horror as the vehicle's driver panicked and tried to go faster on the treacherous road. Predictably, the jeep hit a deep rut and veered out of control. It struck another rut, bounced into the air, and finally overturned into the bushes.

The winch cable had a loop in its end for securing cargo. Jim used it as a stirrup for one foot and took firm hold of the line. "Lower me down," he commanded.

"We do not have the fuel to pick you up again," the winch officer said. "We will have to come back for you."

"That's fine," Jim retorted. "I have the transponder. You won't have any trouble finding me again." He slipped off his headset and handed it to Sandoval, then signaled for the cable to be lowered.

The second officer's frown indicated he didn't think Jim had a clue about the dangers lurking in the rain forest, but he didn't object any further. Instead, he coordinated with the pilot, who hovered above the treetops as the winch lowered Jim to the ground.

Jim jumped easily the last couple of feet, then signaled the helicopter to raise the cable. Dismissing the quickly retreating chopper from his mind, he took out his weapon and moved cautiously toward the overturned jeep. It rested on one side, its rigid metal lines alien in this land of soft, green curves. He didn't detect anyone inside the jeep, but he checked anyway, just to make sure there were no bodies. Thankfully, he saw the jeep was empty.

A groan from several yards down the rutted road got him moving again. As he hurried toward the sound, he sensed there was only one person; there was no one else close by. And he knew the heartbeat he detected was not Blair's.

He found a stranger. The man lay in the middle of the overgrown track, his hands clutching desperately at his bloody leg. When he saw Jim, he moaned pitiably. "My leg's broken," he whined. "Help me."

Anxiously, Jim once again cast his hearing in all directions, but there was no one else.

His anger was so intense it held him helpless for a several numbing seconds. He had followed the wrong trail and allowed the helicopter to leave. How could he have been so stupid! He'd followed the wrong fucking jeep! "You're Carl?" he demanded coldly of the injured man.

"Yes, yes!" Alex's partner cried. "Please, I need -- "

Jim stepped over the huddled figure and pulled back the slide on the Walther. He felt the bullet enter the firing chamber, but when he released the slide, he knew instinctively it had not traveled all the way forward into position. Either the damn reloads were not quite the right size, or else the pistol's recoil spring was worn out. It didn't matter. The gun was virtually useless to him.

None of these thoughts touched his face as he put the muzzle of the Walther against the cringing man's forehead. "Where are they?" he demanded in a voice totally devoid of compassion.

Carl trembled with terror. His bladder and sphincter lost control, polluting the air with the stench of his cowardice. He didn't notice. All he knew was that the man standing over him was going to kill him; nothing else mattered. "Wait! Wait!" he pleaded. "I'll tell you what you want to know. Just don't shoot me!"

Jim didn't move. "Where are they?" he repeated.

"Who are they?" Carl asked desperately, eager to please. His words flowed out in a rush. "Alex and I were never going to leave together. I was supposed to fly out by helicopter this morning, but she stole this jeep for me when she heard the Army chopper coming into camp."

Jim's scowl deepened. "What was she going to do?"

"I swear I don't know. She was going to take a jeep into the jungle somewhere, and when she was finished, she'd catch a ride on another Cyclops chopper and meet me in Lima."

"Where did she go?"

Carl shook his head vehemently. "I don't know, I swear! She took the other road, that's all I can tell you!"

The other road? It dead-ended at the worthless archaeological site. Alex would know that, if she had a map. So she was definitely after something. Buried treasure? No, she wasn't that stupid. All Jim knew was that he now had miles of wilderness between himself and his Guide.

Suddenly aware he still held the pistol to Carl's forehead, he stepped back and eased the hammer down with his thumb. Not that the weapon would have fired, but he didn't want to relieve Carl's illusions.

"Please help me?" the injured man begged. "My leg's broken."

Jim could see that much for himself. Judging from all the blood, it was a compound fracture too. It must have been horribly painful, but he felt nothing for the man's plight.

Fighting down his anger, aware it couldn't do him any good now, he tried to work out his options. He saw a nylon holdall a few feet away in some low bushes. Picking it up, he unzipped the top. It was filled with money; the payoff for stealing the VX.

Carl looked hopeful for a moment. "Yes, there's lots of money. Alex never has to know what happened to it. It's all yours. Just help me, please."

Jim's mouth twitched in an almost frightening imitation of a smile. Abruptly, he upended the bag and let the bundles of US currency tumble down over Carl. "Here you go," he snarled heartlessly. "Maybe you can find a doctor who makes house calls."

Carl shrieked. "No! My God, I need help."

Jim's tone was pitiless. "I've got better things to do than save your sorry ass." Then, with a sigh of resignation, he squatted down beside the injured man and started removing a few things from his pack. "Here's some water, bandages, and a little food," he said. "The helicopter should be back this way again late this afternoon. Signal it with something, and they'll pick you up."

"They'll never find me," Carl moaned.

Jim had to agree with the pessimistic view. "When I can, I'll tell someone where you are," he promised. "That's more than you deserve."

Faint hope lifted the agony for a moment. "When will that be?"

"A day, probably longer. Until then, you're on your own." Jim closed his pack and stood up to put it on.

"God, you can't just leave me here," Carl complained bitterly, his natural petulance asserting itself now that he realized Jim wasn't going to shoot him.

Jim ignored him, already regretting the moments he'd wasted unloading supplies that wouldn't help Carl stay alive. Once the scent of blood reached the predators of the jungle, he figured the man would be dead by nightfall. Furthermore, he was only faintly surprised to realize he didn't care.

Carl's desperate screams stayed in his hearing a long time as Jim started cross-country toward the old dig.

 

The ruin was located by the simple strategy of driving until the road petered out. The jungle hadn't quite reclaimed the clearing yet, but it was overgrown with thick bushes and saplings, their leaves dappled by sunlight and shadow.

Blair peered through the windshield and looked at the grass-covered mound that hid the remains of the destroyed pyramid. Gradually, he picked out a ragged tumble of blocks, a faint symmetry where the steps must have been. The place had been dynamited sometime in the past, treasure hunters heedless of the destruction to archaeological history in their rabid quest for gold. It was sad to see the shattered relics of something that must once have been special, perhaps even sacred, to its builders.

Alex unlocked the handcuff securing him to the seat rail. "Get out," she ordered.

Blair complied slowly. The long hours of slamming back and forth inside the jeep had brought his headache and nausea back with a vengeance. Maybe it was just carsickness and not a resurgence of the flu, he told himself optimistically. Whatever it was, he felt miserable.

Grateful to be standing on firm ground, he stretched a bit to relieve stiff muscles and tried to ignore his aches. "Could I have some aspirin?" he asked her finally.

She studied him. "You don't look so good," she agreed, motioning him away from the jeep and reaching inside it for his pack. She pulled it out and handed it to him. "Here."

"Thanks." Blair searched inside until he found the water and aspirin, then gratefully downed two tablets. He walked a few paces to a mound that probably covered the remains of a stele, or carved stone tablet, and sat down on it. He knew it was too soon to expect his strength to return after nearly dying and then going through the flu, but it didn't stop him wishing. "Do you still think you can sense another temple?" he asked to get his mind off his growing fatigue.

"Yeah." She gestured northward through the jungle. "That way." She frowned as she tried to find the words to explain it. "I feel something tugging at me, you know? A power."

'I could use a little power right about now,' Blair thought irrelevantly. "Any idea how far?"

She shook her head. "Come on, get up," she ordered, brandishing the gun for emphasis.

As he struggled awkwardly back to his feet, he realized he was teetering on the brink of total exhaustion. What would happen when he finally collapsed? Would Alex put a bullet through his brain, or just leave him behind to suffer a slower but just as certain death in the unforgiving wildness of the rain forest?

"Put on your pack," she instructed.

He fumbled to comply, frustrated by his lack of coordination.

"Quit stalling," Alex said angrily.

"I'm not," he shot back.

"Then what the hell's wrong with you?" She pulled the last strap over his shoulder, then roughly snapped the loose handcuff back around his wrist, shackling him again.

"I'm tired," he tried to explain, exasperation overcoming any fear. "I was dead for awhile, in case you've forgotten. It tends to take a lot out of you, OK?"

"Then why aren't you in the hospital?"

Why indeed? "Because I had to stop you."

She considered this simple statement and smiled wryly. "You," she echoed, her voice tinged with surprise but not derision. "Out of all the cops in Cascade or Lima, why you?"

Blair shrugged. "Fate," he murmured for lack of a better answer.

She chuckled. "Well, sonny boy, you know the old saying -- if it wasn't for bad luck, you wouldn't have any luck at all."

Blair actually managed a slight smile. "Ain't it the truth."

She gestured toward the route she wanted him to take. "Let's go."

 

Jim walked quickly for a short while, limbering up muscles that had been tense for too long. Then he started jogging, searching for a comfortable pace he could sustain for a long period. He wasn't a jogger by nature. For one thing, he didn't want to get up the 90 minutes earlier required to do a proper job of it, and by evening -- well, who the hell knew what time he'd get off work? And then there was the unpredictable weather, and a dozen other excuses he used almost daily to avoid the unwelcome exercise.

He preferred the gym, and used it faithfully to keep his body in shape. He just wasn't certain it had been enough to prepare him for the arduous ordeal he was inflicting upon himself.

Increasing his pace gradually, heedless of the pack and crossbow thumbing gently against his back, he felt the familiar rhythms of his Army training return. Still, he knew he wasn't at the same peak of physical fitness to attain the speed or stamina he'd achieved in those days.

The humidity would get to him as well, he knew. The air temperature hovered in the low eighties, and the high humidity meant sweat would not evaporate quickly to cool his body. He had to be careful; heatstroke could fell him just as surely as a bullet.

There was one bit of training he remembered well, and he focused on it now. The will to win had a partner, a ruthless and unforgiving sibling. Simply, it was the will to endure. Speed, skill, and a desire to win were nothing if not harnessed to an equal willingness to endure the emotional frustrations and physical agonies sometimes required to triumph.

And Jim knew he had that willingness. He'd pace himself, try not to burn himself out before he'd reached his goal, but he knew he would drop dead in his tracks rather than submit to failure. He would find his Guide -- or he would die; those were his only options.

He covered the first miles quickly. The going was easy, the ground a soft cushion beneath his boots, the path through the trees unclogged by undergrowth. He made excellent time, and to keep his mind from focusing on the physical stress he was inflicting on his body, he let his thoughts drift elsewhere. Naturally, they drifted to his Guide and what had happened to so catastrophically sever their relationship.

Jim had trusted Blair with his life and his sanity on more than one occasion, and yet he had balked at trusting him with his ego. His ego? Was he really that insecure? OK, yeah...maybe.

OK, but maybe Jim was being a little too hard on himself. There had been moments when he'd sat alone in the quiet of the loft and pondered his life with Blair. Although most of the time he thought his "sacrifices" to their partnership had been trivial -- a few square feet of floor space, a little loss of privacy -- he knew he'd actually given up a lot more. Sometimes willingly, sometimes not, he'd allowed Blair into his psyche, into the very essence of what made Jim Ellison tick. For a man who kept his emotions so carefully shielded, it had been a huge step.

In a moment of weakness, Jim had read the introduction to the dissertation and seen himself as Blair saw him -- or rather, he'd misinterpreted how he thought Blair saw him -- and the blow to his ego had sent him scurrying for the emotional bulwarks again. It was then he'd started to shut Blair out. Oh, superficially he'd been big about it -- after all, a deal was a deal, and he'd agreed to let Blair write about him -- but in all the important aspects, he'd started fortifying all the crumbling defenses his partner had breached over the years.

And look what had happened. Another sentinel had appeared, sending Jim into some sort of sentinel Twilight Zone, and he'd gotten his best friend killed.

Well, not again, damnit! He'd been granted a second chance to make it right, and he was going to take it -- and his Guide -- in both hands and never let go! Forget that he loved Blair like a brother, that his friend was an essential part of himself. Forget all of that...how could he cope with the ever-changing dynamics of being a sentinel? He could not go forward alone; and it was impossible to go back.

So if Blair still wanted him in his life, then Jim was damn well going to do whatever it took to make it work. Selfish, perhaps, but reality nonetheless. Besides, Jim needed Blair a lot more than the other way around. After all, he would always be a sentinel. Blair was an anthropologist who'd been searching for a study subject when he'd found Jim; he could turn his back easily and trot off to Borneo or New Guinea or somewhere to study the mating rituals of the Hoozie-Doozit tribe or whatever.

Or maybe you're underestimating the importance of the Shaman role in Blair's life. Maybe his focus has been changing over the years just like your own. Maybe he needs your help to understand what's happening just as much as you need his.

Without being aware of it, Jim picked up his pace.

A few hours later, he stood on the rim of El Cañon del Tigre. Not so much a canyon as a wide, scenic valley, it had a narrow, meandering river coursing through its center. The cliffs descending to the valley floor were not sheer, but still very steep and rocky.

He paused on the rim to take a short breather. A few swallows of water and two bites from an energy bar, and he felt ready to tackle the slope. He could climb down, but that would take too long. Instead, he picked out a route and then simply launched himself, allowing momentum and the force of gravity to carry him downward. Once committed to this mad rush, all he could do was maintain his balance and try to keep his feet under him. To lose either meant a painful tumble and certain injury. A serious injury at this point would probably doom him to the same fate awaiting Carl. In fact, he figured the man was already dead.

When he safely reached the canyon floor at last, his legs felt ready to give out. He staggered to a shaky halt, then stumbled a few yards to sprawl gratefully in the grass beside the stream. His knees were quivering uselessly, the muscles above them trembling and weak. Obviously, there was at least one muscle group his weight training had neglected.

Allowing himself only a moment to catch his breath, he sat up and drank a bit more water. Stowing the bottle, he took off his boots and socks, then waded through the shallow stream. The water felt wonderfully cool and soothing, an unexpected treat for a body that had resigned itself to endless hours of abuse. On the opposite bank, he sat down to dry his feet thoroughly and don fresh socks. A liberal amount of foot powder went into the boots before he reluctantly laced them on again. He nearly discarded the old, sweaty socks; then, with a wry smile, he stuffed the pair inside a small zip-loc bag and buried it at the bottom of his pack. Sandburg would be proud of this responsible conservation effort.

With a sigh, he forced himself to his feet and slipped the backpack and crossbow over protesting shoulders. Walking for a time to give his muscles a chance to recover after the physically demanding plunge down the side of the canyon, he headed across the valley floor. At least the climb out would be easier -- those muscles did get a regular workout in the gym!

Seven hours after being lowered from the police helicopter, he found the second jeep where it had been abandoned at the old archaeological site. Casting about quickly, he found a trail leading north. The tracks of two people, he saw with relief; Blair was still alive.

Their path wasn't difficult to follow. Whether by design or exhaustion, Blair's footsteps were dragging, leaving a clear trail. Pausing just long enough to cock the bowstring and nock a bolt -- resistance training had nothing on that little maneuver -- he set out again, all senses alert.

 

Blair had lost track of time. Too tired to think beyond the moment, he focused on his feet, putting one foot grimly in front of the other, knowing his only hope was to keep moving. Twice, he actually nodded off, literally asleep on his feet, and only when his balance started to go was he able to jerk himself back to awareness. Alex kept one hand against his back, not pushing but still moving him steadily forward. In her other hand, the gun hung needlessly at her side. Her captive had neither the strength nor the will to attempt escape.

Occasionally, she'd pause like an animal to sense the wind, searching for signs of that elusive power beckoning her onward. She'd find it again, adjust their path accordingly, and set out impatiently, urging Blair along but not demanding more than he could give.

Unfortunately, he knew he was fast approaching the absolute limit of his endurance. The wall of exhaustion -- that unbreakable barrier beyond which no person could go -- loomed closer with each step. When he reached it, his body would simply quit. And then Alex would kill him. Again. Idly, he wondered why he continued to let himself suffer. Why not just get it over with? Obviously, his mission had been to recover the nerve gas; this he had done. He was not destined to beat Alex, only to be killed by her, so why not just get it over with?

Because it wasn't in his nature to quit. His body might fail or his spirit waver, but there would always be a part of him that refused just to give up and submit. It was all that kept him going now.

"Carl's dead, you know," she said conversationally, bored with the silence.

"Carl?" Blair repeated dully, his tired, burning eyes transfixed by the sight of his bootlaces bobbing as he stumbled forward.

"My partner. I was going to dump him anyway." She chuckled. "Pity about the money, but I never could have gotten him to leave without it. He was supposed to go out by chopper -- I would have eventually tracked him down and killed him. Then you guys showed up. It suddenly seemed a lot easier to let the jungle to do the dirty deed for me. I sent the idiot off in a jeep to take the Chopek pass. He won't last more than a day alone out there."

"Why get rid of him?"

"I want to find someone who can really help me hone my skills -- maybe someone like you, but without such a strong moral streak."

Blair smiled slightly at the vague compliment. "It won't happen, Alex."

"Why not?"

It took him a minute to make his mind put the thoughts together, then another to actually mumble the words. "Because to let someone help you like that requires trust -- absolute trust. You're incapable of it." His voice slurred from tiredness.

"How did you and Ellison work it out?"

"We didn't. I thought our friendship was strong enough to handle anything, but our trust shattered as easily as -- as --" He couldn't find a suitable metaphor. "Anyway, it's over."

"So that's why you're here alone? You and Ellison split up?"

This time, fatigue worked in his favor to help him mask his emotions. No way was this bitch going to see his pain. Coolly, he admitted, "Finalized the divorce two days ago from my hospital bed."

He'd walked several more paces before he realized Alex's hand was no longer against his back. Bewildered, he stopped and lifted his head to see what had happened.

He was in a large clearing surrounded by jungle.

Ahead of him stood the pyramid, the rough-hewn symmetry of its giant stone blocks rising toward the heavens. A rectangular crown adorned its summit, a doorway to the interior of the temple a darker square at its center.

"Impossible," he murmured, awe-struck by the sight.

Triumphantly, Alex strode by him. "Told you," she sneered.

He flopped down on the ground. "Alex, look at it," he said wearily, unable to shed his pack because of the handcuffs but too tired to care. "Damnit, just look at it."

She turned back toward him. "What are you talking about?" she demanded in irritation.

"What do you see?"

"It's perfect," she answered. "It's beautiful. It's what I've been looking for."

Blair just shook his head. "It's cared for," he returned quietly. "Someone is looking after this place -- there's no jungle growth, no sign of decay."

"So what?" she countered, scanning the area quickly for possible threats.

"So I don't know what culture lives around here," he explained patiently. "I don't know if they're friendly or not. Trespassing on their sacred site could be a fatal error." In his mind, however, he pictured a few loyal servants traveling for days from their village on a monthly pilgrimage to tend the temple. Were ceremonies actually conducted here? If so, they weren't held on a regular basis -- the grass was lush and untrampled all around the base of the pyramid. But with the rapid growth of the jungle, this only meant people didn't come here on a daily basis. Weekly was possible, monthly the absolute limit. The temple was too well maintained to be neglected for any longer than that. And it was ancient, several centuries old at least.

What sort of ceremonies had been conducted here? What sort of temple was it?

His natural curiosity drove him back to his feet, and he stumbled closer to examine the immense architectural wonder. Alex followed him, amusement in her eyes.

He stopped at a tall, rectangular slab sunk into the ground. It was one of two flanking the wide stone steps that led to the top.

"What is it?" Alex asked.

"A stele," he explained, nodding toward the carvings. "The inscriptions tell the story of the pyramid. There must be hundreds of glyphs here. It's unbelievable."

"Who built it?"

"I don't know," he answered truthfully. It wasn't Olmec, he was certain. They had lived far to the north. But the inscriptions clearly indicated it was a temple to the jaguar. "It's similar to an Olmec temple," he confessed at last. "These look kind of like some of the ancient Olmec stelae, but they're a lot different." Now there's a brilliant scientific observation. Damn, I need to get some sleep! "And the inscriptions aren't Incan either."

Alex nodded. "I knew it. It's a temple for sentinels."

Blair shook his head. "No, it's a temple dedicated to the jaguar."

"Same thing," Alex shot back. "Let's see what's on the top."

"That's a bad idea, Alex," Blair said, knowing he'd never convince her.

"It's OK," she insisted. "There's no one close by. I checked."

Resolutely, Blair climbed the first step. They weren't like modern stairs. These had risers almost two feet high, and he wasn't ashamed to use his hands to help his weary legs make the climb. He really, really didn't want to go up there, and she'd have to kill him before she got him inside. The glyphs hadn't told him much, but they'd told him enough.

Maybe his destiny really was carved in stone....

The summit was flat and wide, with plenty of space for the large room and its low doorway to the inner chambers of the pyramid. Two more stelae flanked the entry, and several feet in front of them stood a squat rectangular block. It looked like a coffin...or an altar. The rock was chipped in places and stained black with ancient blood.

Resolutely, Blair turned his eyes away from the gruesome sight and stared instead at the glyphs, trying to make some sense of it all. Without his notebooks and reference manuals, it was a difficult translation, especially since the carvings had been made by some ancient culture whose writings he'd never seen before. In fact, he was fairly certain no living scientist had laid eyes on these particular carvings, or even this language, ever before.

Bemused, he realized Alex had led him to the find of any archaeologist's lifetime. It might also be the find of an anthropologist's lifetime, if his hunch was right that some culture still used the site, or at least faithfully maintained it.

She was examining the glyphs for herself, trying to fit the symbols into her limited knowledge of sentinels. The carvings clearly described a death on the altar; the solemn priest stood with his knife upraised to plunge into the breast of his victim.

She stared at the gruesome inscriptions for a very long time, and then smiled in grim understanding. A vulpine smile quirked the corners of her mouth.

Blair began to fidget, knowing where her increasingly unpredictable thoughts were taking her. He tried to keep his voice steady. "Alex, it's not what you're thinking."

She looked at him, and he knew the argument was already lost. "No?"

"No, the scene depicts an execution." Of someone very much like you, he neglected to add.

Slowly, she shook her head. "No -- it's a sacrifice. To the gods. To ask them to convey power." She pointed toward another carving. "See the lightning bolts? The request was granted."

For about the space of a second, Blair thought about trying to get away. But he knew it was a futile plan. Although the flu was behind him, its effects still lingered, leaving him enervated and slow. She's be on him before he even got off the pyramid, and he refused to suffer the indignity of being dragged back helplessly like a pig to slaughter.

The Aztecs had given their sacrifices a potent drink, which rendered them docile and perhaps oblivious to their fate. He wondered if these people had done the same. Either way, he wasn't going to be granted the same consideration.

"You don't seem particularly upset," Alex observed, the humor still in her expression but a trace of confusion in her tone.

Blair shrugged. "The first time you killed me, it seemed -- I don't know -- appropriate somehow." He frowned. Words usually didn't fail him. "You see, I figured you and Jim were destined to duel, a combat to the death for territory or supremacy or something. I thought one of you had to die. When you showed up at my office, I thought it meant Jim was dead. Part of me, maybe the part of me that had known all along I was supposed to be his Guide, figured it was right for me to die as well. That was really stupid."

"I don't know," Alex replied a little sarcastically. "It sounds sort of nobly romantic to me."

"Except the whole premise was flawed," Blair countered. "Jim survived. And you're not a sentinel."

"Bullshit." For the first time, there was real anger in her voice. "You said I was."

"I was wrong," Blair returned mildly. I could fill an encyclopedia with all the things I've been wrong about these last couple of days. "You're just a person who happens to possess five heightened senses. All your opportunities for choosing the path of the Sentinel are a long time behind you."

Fury suffused her beautiful face with ugliness. "I'm glad I failed to kill you the first time," she snarled. "I'll enjoy it so much more the second time around." She gestured abruptly toward the stone altar. "Lie down."

The moment the gun wavered, Blair plowed his shoulder into her abdomen. Surprised by the unexpected assault, she grunted and fell back, her free arm instinctively snaking around his throat and hauling him down backwards on top of her. He kicked and squirmed, his cuffed hands groping wildly for the gun, but she managed to slam it sideways against his temple, stunning him for the critical seconds necessary to get free.

Shoving his weight off her body, she staggered to her feet, her breathing hard with exertion and anger. She looked down at her captive, who was dazedly trying to clear his head after the blow from the pistol. With a hiss of fury, she slammed her booted foot down on his chest.

Blair screamed in pain, curling away protectively in an effort to shield his already bruised and tortured ribs. So she kicked him in the lower back, the blow sending sharp stabs of agony up his spine until they erupted inside his skull. He closed his eyes tightly against the onslaught; there was nothing else he could do.

A third blow did not come. Controlling her anger at last, she hauled him up and toppled him onto the altar.

Trying to breathe against the torment in his chest, he whispered, "Alex, don't do this. I swear the inscription isn't a sacrifice."

As if to counterpoint his plea, a jaguar roared in the distance.

Alex's head snapped up as she heard it. "Did you hear that?" she exulted. "That was a jaguar -- my jaguar -- my animal spirit guide."

"No," Blair said. It had been a jaguar all right -- a real one. And something else as well -- a howl? Whatever it was, it sounded angry.

Alex drew a knife from her leg sheath. Its long, wicked blade gleamed dully in the late afternoon light. Blair studied it absently -- a deeply serrated blade, guaranteed to go in cleanly and then rip the hell out of living flesh.

"I wasn't sure I'd have the guts to do this," she said, her free hand reaching for the short span of links joining the cuffs together. She bore down with her weight, pinning his hands helplessly against his abdomen. The hinges where the two halves joined dug painfully into his muscles. More bruises. As if it would matter after the next thirty seconds.

"But I can," she concluded in a voice tinged with madness and wonder. "I can feel the power gathering around me even now, waiting for me to rip your beating heart from your chest as an offering."

He wondered if he had the strength left to raise his legs and kick her in the face. It looked like his only chance.

With a cry of sheer bloodlust, she raised the knife.

In that second, Blair knew Alex's weight bearing down would not allow him to raise his legs quickly enough, so he did the only thing he could -- he screamed his angry defiance toward the heavens.

 

At the sound of the scream, Jim slid to a halt so suddenly he nearly lost his footing in the soft, yielding soil. He was on a low rise, his view unrestricted and level with the temple altar. But he was too far away, he realized despairingly. He'd raced thousands of miles to save his Guide, and he would fail within mere yards of his goal.

With speed he never knew he possessed, he unlimbered the crossbow, thumbed the safety, and raised the weapon like a handgun. So much less wieldy than its native counterpart, the pistol grip snugged in his hands with familiar efficiency. Pulling the trigger with barely a moment to steady his aim, he heard the hard, dull snap of the bowstring as it launched its deadly missile. All things being equal, the vastly shorter arrow should have been inferior to the long native version. But all things were not equal. The aluminum frame of the crossbow was stronger than wood and able to withstand higher stresses, so it loosed the bolt at great velocity, catapulting it straight and true where the human eye commanded.

Even after traveling such a great distance, the arrow struck with incredible speed, piercing Alex's upraised knife hand. It's wicked steel tip carved a path through flesh and bone before expending its energy in the limestone block of the temple wall behind her.

Screaming in pain, Alex dropped the knife and spun away, automatically clutching at her destroyed hand.

Desperately, Blair rolled off the altar and tried to get to his feet. Instead, his legs gave way and he toppled down the steep stone steps of the pyramid, the breath driven from him with mind-numbing agony as each bump reawakened old pains. He sprawled helplessly at the base of the temple, the wind knocked out of him, panic seizing his sanity as he felt himself drowning in a viscous sea of liquid fire. He didn't hear the gunshots or feel the thud of the bullets that slammed into the earth within inches of his body, nor did he hear the savage hiss of another arrow passing overhead. There was only the roar of his blood in his ears, surging in perfect rhythm with the wild pounding of his heart. God, he couldn't breathe! He was going to die all over again!

Someone dropped beside him and strong arms pulled him to his knees. The movement unlocked the paralysis in his chest, and he drew a deep, juddering breath, coughing before he'd filled his lungs enough. He began to gasp in panic, certain the people who guarded the temple were about to wreck vengeance for his trespassing. "No, please, you don't understand -- " he tried to plead, but the words were meaningless gibberish amid his frantic quest for air.

"Easy, Chief," a voice said softly in his left ear, holding him as Blair began to choke and struggle. "You're all right. You just had the breath knocked out of you."

Jim? Jim's here? He managed a shallow breath without coughing, then another. After a moment, he sat back on his heels to stare incredulously at the dirty, sweaty apparition before him. Jim's here! It took an abnormally long time for the realization to imprint itself on his mind. "Jim," he whispered, more of a breath really, with no sound behind it.

"Are you all right?" Jim asked fearfully, checking Blair's arms and legs for broken bones, examining his scalp for cuts. "What the hell did you think you were doing?"

Blair suddenly felt like a toddler who'd taken a tumble off his tricycle, with Jim as the over-anxious mom alternating between relief and anger. Startled by all the smothering, he brushed Jim's hands aside with a laugh, finding his voice at last. "I'm OK, Jim," he insisted, utterly overwhelmed by the miracle of Jim's arrival. "Really, I'm OK."

Jim drew back immediately, his expression suddenly embarrassed and vulnerable. "Good," he murmured awkwardly. "That's good."

Abruptly, Blair remembered their very last words in the hospital...

We're finished.

...and realized Jim thought he was being rejected again. He reached out impulsively and clasped Jim's arms. "How about you? Are you OK?"

Jim's hands immediately returned the grip, although he seemed oblivious to his almost desperate need to reestablish physical contact. "Yeah," he answered quickly, relief making his voice sound husky. "Yeah, I'm all right."

"Good." Blair shook his head in amazement. "How do you do it?"

Jim's smile was tired but warm. "Do what?"

"Always manage to find me." Man, he felt weak and bruised in every inch of his body, but since he'd expected to be dead by now, any feeling at all was welcome.

As always, through sheer dumb luck. "I thought it was part of my job description," Jim replied simply, but already he was looking up toward the temple's summit, his thoughts refocusing now that his Guide was safe. He shed his pack and loaded another bolt in the crossbow.

Blair looked up, too, but it was impossible to see the platform from this angle. "Alex?"

"She ducked inside the pyramid," Jim explained grimly. "I'm going after her."

"No," Blair gasped as Jim released him and stood up.

Jim shook his head, his deadly intent written clearly on his face. "I have to." He started forward, but Blair grabbed desperately for his legs, snagging an ankle with enough force to unbalance Jim and slam him forward onto the temple stairs.

Barely managing to catch himself before his forehead collided with a step, he rolled over and sat up. "What the hell are you doing?" he demanded angrily.

The last of Blair's energy was spent. He'd hit that invisible wall of endurance; he wouldn't be able to stop Jim a second time. "Please," he whispered despairingly, knowing it was hopeless. "Trust me."

Jim's expression crumbled as if he'd been slugged. Frozen in shock and shame for a minute, he could only close his eyes against the upswell of guilt that drove the last of his strength from him. Never in his life had he been so physically exhausted; never before had he felt so emotionally spent. The idea of climbing the stone steps and confronting Alex was ludicrous. Instead, he sat there unable to move, his thoughts as frightened and jumbled as a three-year old lost in a department store. If she'd walked out right then to shoot him, there wouldn't have been a damn thing he could have done about it.

He took a ragged breath and opened his eyes again. Blair was sitting in the grass, his legs akimbo, his cuffed hands resting on the ground as if he didn't have the strength to lift them. He looked completely, utterly wayworn.

Finding a tiny reserve of strength, Jim rocked forward off the step and knelt beside his partner. "I do trust you," he murmured simply, drawing Blair to him and shifting around enough to lean back against the stone stele flanking the base of the steps. His grip was gentle, mindful of the bruises. Blair would have returned the hug, but his wrists were still cuffed, so he settled for gripping the sleeve covering one strong arm. He settled sideways against the cushion of Jim's chest, his own backpack making it difficult to get comfortable.

"Can you do something about these?" he asked, bobbing his shackled wrists.

Jim moved just enough to reach his pack and pulled it closer. Twisting sideways so he could search inside, he finally emerged with a darning needle from the small wilderness survival kit. He reached his arms around Blair and took hold of his hands to help steady them as he picked the locks.

The image of Megan Connor seared suddenly into his memory, the feel of her hands gripping his as she coaxed him to release his hold on Blair so the paramedics could work. Remembering that moment caused his breath to catch and his own heart to thud hard against his breastbone. Squeezing his eyes closed against the memory, he rested his forehead against Blair's shoulder and sought to regain control.

"What's wrong?" Blair asked anxiously, feeling the sudden change in the steady heartbeat against his back. He thought wildly that maybe he'd been wrong about Alex; maybe she was coming after them.

After a moment, when Jim had driven the image back into the darkest corners of his mind, he said gruffly, "Nothing."

No, that had definitely been something. "You shouldn't keep hiding your feelings," Blair commented softly, watching Jim's fingers start to probe at the locks. The first cuff snapped open, and he slipped his wrist free.

"It wouldn't do any good to talk about it right now," Jim replied, going to work on the other lock. He never wanted to relive that hollow helplessness, or feel the core of his being disintegrate as his physical link to his Guide was severed.

"OK," Blair agreed, not feeling ready to tackle any serious subjects just now. He desperately wanted to sleep, but for some perverse reason, his mind wouldn't turn itself off.

"How did you know Alex came to Peru?"

"I didn't," Jim admitted finally. "Not until I realized you were on her tail. I was just following you."

"OK, then how did you now I'd come to Peru?"

Bewildered by the impossibility of it, Jim answered simply. "I just knew."

Here was another sentinel miracle to be worked out when Blair felt up to it. The second handcuff snapped open, and he cast the restraints aside before gratefully slipping free of his pack. Thus unencumbered, he started to shift away, but Jim just settled back again without loosening his grip. He seemed oblivious to this need to maintain physical contact, so Blair didn't resist it. He'd just let Jim decide for himself when it was time to let go.

"Man, I'm gonna get fired," he observed at last.

Jim sounded as if he'd dozed off for a moment. "Why?"

"I stole a credit card to pay for the plane ticket."

"I'd wondered about that. Don't worry, we'll return the card and pay the charges." Jim obviously thought that should settle the matter.

"It may not be enough. The head of the department is a real stickler."

"He wouldn't dare fire you. You're a national hero of Peru. El Presidente himself will probably pin a medal on you."

Blair smiled at the thought. "Actually, I'd settle for a hot shower and a cold beer."

Jim was quiet for a minute, savoring the picture. "Well, how about a luxury resort with all the shameful indulgences any wealthy tourist could imagine?"

"Something really posh, full of crass commercialism?" Blair sounded intrigued by the idea.

"Yeah."

"The Club Med scene," Blair murmured, thinking Jim was fooling around. "I've never done it before. Sounds great. But we're not exactly dressed for a resort, you know."

"So we'll buy some new clothes," Jim continued. "I just happen to have a whole pocket full of traveler's checks in a locker back at a Lima police station."

Finally, Blair realized Jim was serious. "You mean it?"

"Yeah."

"Come on, you know what's going to happen, right?" Blair countered, energy infusing his voice. The mindless chatter seemed to be reviving him a bit. "Simon's probably on his way here by jet already. There's going to be a mountain of paperwork, followed by press interviews if word about the VX gets out. Simon will insist we get checked over at the hospital, then he'll throw our asses on a plane back to Cascade. Man, we don't stand a chance."

Jim shrugged. "He has to catch us first."

Blair thought about it. "I can do fugitive tourist," he admitted. "Especially if it means a shower, sauna, massage and a soft bed with cool sheets."

"Stop it," Jim groaned. "My whole body's drooling."

This assessment wasn't far off the mark. "Actually, Jim, your whole body feels a little warm. Are you OK?" He twisted around a bit and placed his palm against his Sentinel's forehead. "I think you've got a fever."

"Wonderful," Jim murmured sourly. "Just what I need, some weird jungle thing."

Blair pondered it. "Maybe you're getting my flu."

"Your flu? You have the flu?"

"It was a twenty-four hour thing," Blair assured him. "I'm over it now, though. I wonder how you could have caught it."

Without thinking, Jim muttered, "Maybe when I gave you mouth to mouth." The instant the words were out, he wished he could take them back. He didn't want to remember any of those fateful moments by the fountain, and he felt certain Blair's sudden stillness was for the same reason.

Actually, Blair was just a little startled. He really hadn't thought about the efforts to save his life after the drowning. He didn't even know who had found him. Somewhere along the way, he had just supposed some students had dragged him out of the water and called the paramedics. Weird. But all he finally said was, "My germs are your germs, partner."

"Thanks."

Then he remembered the letter. "Uh, Jim. I wrote you a letter."

"Yeah, Sandoval has it. What did you do, hand write your whole dissertation or something? It's thick as a phone book." Jim sounded as if he was dozing off again.

"Did you read it?"

"No -- is it full of sappy, maudlin stuff?"

Blair chuckled. "Probably. Some of it anyway. I was kind of delirious with fever at the time. You know, the whole business of dying took some getting use to." Although he spoke lightly, he felt Jim tense against him and vowed never to mention the drowning again, not even in jest. "Anyway, I'd appreciate it if you didn't read it."

Jim tortured him for a long minute before answering. "OK."

Blair relaxed again. "Thanks. I think I'll keep it, though. As a humble reminder of just how abysmally stupid I can be when I let my imagination run away with my common sense."

"Not possible," Jim answered simply. "You don't have any common sense."

"Gee, thanks."

Despite his determination to avoid a serious discussion, Jim couldn't let matters rest. He hadn't sensed Alex at all from the moment she'd ducked for cover inside the pyramid, but that didn't mean he'd stopped thinking about her. With hurt and confusion tingeing his voice, he commented, "I don't understand why you wanted me to let her go."

Blair smiled slightly, although Jim could not see it. "I don't want you to let her go," he explained gently. "She'll die in the temple, just as you would have died if you'd gone after her."

Jim was silent for a long time as he pondered the statement. "That doesn't make any sense," he said at last.

"She'll be punished for her arrogance in entering the temple," Blair continued patiently, his exhaustion lending his voice a matter-of-face inflection devoid of sympathy. "She was never a sentinel."

"Never a sentinel," Jim echoed. "You're losing me here, Chief."

"Her animal spirit guide understood that she wasn't a sentinel. That's why it revealed itself to you -- as a warning. She was just a person with five heightened senses, with no understanding of what the gifts meant."

Jim didn't miss that Blair was already referring to her in the past tense, and he felt a subtle chill deep in his bones.

"She never committed herself to being a sentinel. Instead, she used her gifts for evil, and the evil will twist back on her. It will drive her mad and then destroy her."

Again, there was a long silence between them. "OK," Jim finally said, "even supposing I buy the notion of a powerful magic inside the pyramid that will somehow strike her down, why do you think the same thing will happen to me?"

"Because this isn't the Temple of the Sentinel."

Jim frowned. "It's not?"

"No." Blair couldn't keep a faint smugness out of his voice. "It's the Temple of the Shaman."

Jim almost jerked away from the stele he was leaning against. "Shaman? Is that like in the plural, or Shaman with a capitol 'S'?"

"Capitol 'S'," Blair confirmed. "The big cheese himself, the head honcho, the president of the shaman's union."

Jim released the breath he'd been holding. "Got you," he acknowledged. Maybe his sudden fear of the pyramid was part of his genetic heritage as the Sentinel, but he knew no force on earth was going to make him enter that temple now, not without an engraved invitation. Curious, he asked, "Could you go in there?"

Blair didn't sound particularly eager. "Maybe. In time."

"You mean when you've made the commitment to being a guide and shaman."

Blair shook his head, his tousled hair tickling Jim's chin. "Been there, done that."

"Yeah?" Jim sounded faintly surprised.

"Yeah," came the groggy reply. Fatigue was finally overtaking Blair's meandering thoughts. "You know. Tall cliff. Long drop. Big leap." He thought Jim would be pleased. "The whole enchilada."

"You jumped, huh?" Jim commented a little tensely.

Blair frowned. Jim didn't sound pleased. In fact, he sounded a little embarrassed. "Yeah. Why?"

Jim was quiet for a minute before whispering his confession. "I didn't. Jump, I mean."

"You didn't jump," Blair repeated flatly, too tired to feel annoyed. "After that ration of shit you dished out about my not being able to commit to being your Guide, you didn't jump."

"Well, a lot of things were happening, you know," Jim excused himself feebly. "I would've jumped. I think." He recalled the time when he and Blair had come to Peru to rescue Simon and Daryl. He'd had a vision and made the choice to jump, and his wayward senses had returned in that instant. Perhaps making the choice had been enough.

But Blair really wasn't listening any more, because he'd already forgiven Jim completely and unconditionally. In a voice tinged with awe, he said, "Look at that. It's no wonder the Spanish believed they could find a city made of gold."

Jim glanced over his shoulder. The setting sun had transformed the temple into a brilliant ochre castle, its crown shining like precious metal. Instead of being impressed, he was reminded of the time. "Oh, yeah, I'd better contact the helicopter to pick us up before dark." He reached into his nearby pack and pulled out a small black box.

Blair closed his hands around it defensively. "What is it?"

"A transponder. It will transmit our location."

Blair shook his head. "Tomorrow, OK?"

"Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," Blair repeated insistently. "We'll hike a few miles from here before we turn it on."

Jim frowned, bemused by the request. "Why?"

"Because I don't want anyone else to find the temple. If word gets out, archaeologists will swarm all over it. They'll destroy the magic. Don't you see? They'll kill it."

Jim sighed, not understanding but willing to agree to just about anything to quell the sudden desperation in Blair's voice. "OK." Besides, he felt ready for a nice, long sleep, not a long, bumpy ride in a helicopter. While not exactly thrilled at the idea of spending the night here, especially if Blair was wrong and Alex managed to sneak out again, he was confident he could detect her presence even through his exhaustion. He closed his eyes. Now, if his partner would just shut up....

"Will you be OK?" Blair asked, suddenly a little worried. "I mean, if you're getting the flu, maybe we should go ahead and contact the chopper."

"If I get the flu, I get the flu," Jim pointed out logically. "Where I am won't matter."

Blair didn't quite agree with the sentiment, but he felt strongly about protecting the pyramid from interlopers. "But if you're sick tomorrow, we won't bother to hike out of here. We'll signal the chopper, OK?"

Jim wasn't going to be convinced. "If it's important to you to keep the pyramid safe, then we'll do it," he answered. "I'll be OK. You can brew some tea made from tree bark or something equally herbal and disgusting. Fix me right up in no time."

Blair relaxed again. Actually, he did have some tea in his pack. "Thanks." Starting to nod off, he suddenly tensed again in Jim's arms. "Jim?"

"Umm?"

"There aren't any wolves native to the rain forest, are there?"

Without opening his eyes, Jim smiled. "I don't think so, why?"

"Because I could swear I just saw -- " Blair's voice faltered. "No, I couldn't have."

Mildly, Jim contradicted. "You did."

"I did?" Blair felt Jim's nod against the top of his head. He thought about it for a minute, then suddenly smiled a little Cheshire grin. "Cool."

Sleepily, Jim asked, "Do you know what the wolf means?"

"Sort of. Not really."

"Wolf is the teacher, the seeker, unswervingly loyal."

"Wow," Blair breathed, feeling suitably humbled. "How do you know that?"

"A woman on the plane was reading a book about wolves. It had a chapter on the mythology of the wolf in native American cultures."

"What does a black panther symbolize?"

"I don't know. I never thought to look it up before."

Blair pondered it for a moment. "I'll bet it means things like strong, courageous, tenacious, protective."

"That would be nice," Jim agreed mildly.

"Yeah," Blair said tiredly. "I'd like to go to sleep now," he added, trying to sit up.

Jim still wasn't ready to let go. "Are you comfortable?"

Blair settled back again without protest. "Yeah," he admitted.

"Then go to sleep."

 

He heard the heavy patter of raindrops on the branches overhead. Branches? Why was he dry when he should have been getting wet?

Blair's sluggish brain pondered this paradox while trying to attain some degree of wakefulness. It was a lost battle, although he managed to open his eyes a bit.

The first thing he noticed was that he was lying down, curled on his side, Jim sound asleep and spooned against his back. One of Jim's arms was draped protectively over Blair's chest, while the other served as a pillow under his head and was probably numb by now.

Well, OK, they'd lain down, and Jim wasn't quite over his Cling-wrap mode. Blair didn't mind; he was feeling a little "clingy" himself.

The second thing he noticed was the blanket covering the two of them. It was a scratchy, natural fiber, tightly woven and heavy. Had Jim really been crazy enough to cart the bulky thing along in his backpack?

More rattle of raindrops. He turned his head a bit and saw the canopy of woven branches overhead. When had Jim gotten up and built lean-to?

Obviously, he hadn't. Nor had he gathered the fruit inside the small, woven basket, nor the olla of water, nor whatever was inside the covered earthenware dish that all rested a few feet in front of Blair's nose.

Automatically, he tensed at the incongruity of these mysteries, and Jim shifted, his breath quickening a bit as he fought his way toward consciousness to confront the danger.

Blair gently stroked the arm shielding his chest. "It's OK, Jim," he whispered. "We were invited." Immediately, Jim relaxed against him, falling back into a deep sleep without ever becoming aware he'd tried to wake up.

Four figures were sitting motionless in the grass several yards away. In the dim light of a quarter-moon, Blair tried to see them clearly, but his vision refused to cooperate. Three men and a woman; that was all he knew for certain. Almost desperately, he wanted to go to them, find out more about their lives and study their special relationship with the Temple of the Shaman; but his limbs felt as unresponsive as his muddled thoughts. He could barely see them, much less talk to them.

How had Jim remained oblivious to their presence while they'd covered him with a blanket and erected a shelter to keep off the rain? Either Jim had unconsciously accepted their peaceful intentions, or Blair was someday going to have a new chapter for his journals: "How to Switch Off Your Sentinel."

Come to think of it, there might be another chapter in there on "Controlling the Overcurious Guide," because Blair couldn't believe he could remain trapped between consciousness and sleep for so long without being under some sort of unnatural influence.

One by one, the silent figures rose and dissolved into the night.

He closed his eyes again. Maybe morning would reveal it had all been a dream.

Or maybe there'd be fresh fruit for breakfast.

A bit later, he heard the faint snuffling of the wolf as it checked out the gifts and found them to be suitable offerings.

In his sleep, Blair smiled.

THE END