Tank
by Swellison

"Jim! Breakfast's ready!" Blair Sandburg set the plates on the tabletop, then walked back to the kitchen to fetch the orange juice. He returned just as Jim Ellison reached the bottom step of the loft stairway. They sat down on opposite sides of the gray table and Jim glanced at his food.

"Ham and cheese omelet?" he queried. This was a step above their customary scrambled eggs and toast.

"Actually, Jim, it's ham, cheese and cheese. I used two kinds of cheese."

"Medium cheddar and mild Colby," Jim finished, his supersensitive nose easily distinguishing between the two cheeses. "With a touch of shallots and homemade hash browns on the side. What do I owe this feast to?" the police detective asked mildly as he picked up his fork and started eating.

"I woke up in a good mood, and decided to spread it around, " Blair said. He paused to swallow a bite of omelet, then continued, "You know, good mood, good food."

"You woke up in a good mood - that's right, you had a date last night."

"Yeah, with Jennifer." Blair beamed, then drank his orange juice. "She took me to a cozy little South American restaurant and we had a great dinner, then sat around and talked for hours.

"For hours?" Jim uneasily recalled Blair telling him he'd met this girl at the University. "About what - your research project?" Blair had promised to keep this whole Sentinel thing under wraps from the rest of the police department, and certainly, from the criminal element - but maybe he didn't think it was necessary to include his university colleagues in his promise -

"No - hers. Jennifer's a behavioral psychologist. Her latest group of test subjects is the University's football, tennis and basketball teams." Blair quickly swallowed some hash browns and waved his empty fork around, enthusiastically. "She's achieved some marvelous results with them, on both the individual and team levels by applying meditation, motivation and visualization techniques."

"In English, Sandburg," Jim interrupted plaintively.

"Okay," Blair paused. "Visualization is mentally picturing an event and producing the desired outcome. A kicker would see the football teed in front, see himself run up to the ball and kick it, and see the football soaring 40 or 45 yards straight through the middle of the goal posts for a field goal. The rest of it is similar to what we do, in the lab - only Jennifer's taken it to the next level. She uses a flotation tank to virtually eliminate outside influences, which increases the subject's ability to relax and focus."

"Flotation tank?" Jim stiffened and dropped his fork, no longer hungry. He pushed his half-eaten plate away. "We're talking sensory deprivation here, aren't we?" Jim now understood why Blair and Jennifer had discussed her research for hours.

"The current buzzword is Restricted Environmental Stimulation Technique," Blair said, calmly laying his fork down. Seeing where this conversation was headed, Jim put his foot down.

"I don't care what you call it, you're not putting me in one!"

"Why not? This is an incredible opportunity --"

"Call me stupid, Chief," Jim cut in, "but I don't think a Sentinel belongs in a sensory deprivation tank!"

"So you're going to make an important decision like this based on nomenclature?"

"No! I just don't --"

"You're not thinking clearly; you're just being stubborn!" Blair's hand reached to tuck a loose strand of hair back into the ponytail he'd put his hair into prior to cooking, per House Rule Whatever. "Open your eyes, Jim! This is the best chance we'll ever have for 'controlled environment' testing. And that testing will enable us to be prepared for the next time your senses go wacky, or the next case, or whatever. Remember your Boy Scout motto, 'Be Prepared?'"

"How'd you know I was a Boy Scout?" Jim tried diverting Blair's attention.

"I read it in that News Update article about you. You stayed in it through the Explorer level. Besides, it clicks: over 60% of all military officers were Boy Scouts as kids.

"How about you, Sandburg? I don't suppose you were ever a Boy Scout."

"No - but I was a Bluebird for a few months."

"Bluebird? Isn't that --"

"Yeah, the Campfire Girls. I was having a lot of fun, too, until the regional H.Q. discovered that, in my case, Blair was a boy's name. " Blair smiled reminiscently and even got a slight smile out of Jim.

Blair put the conversation back on track. "Look, Jim, if you're nervous about getting into the tank - you shouldn't be. It 's perfectly safe; I've been in one, straight up. It was a requirement for a behavioral psych class I took two years ago. It was an incredible experience. I was triple-booked that weekend, so I dug out my copy of the Kamasutra and called --"

"Wait a minute, Chief. You put yourself in a sensory deprivation tank just to improve your sex life?"

"No - well, yeah. And wrote two term papers and filled out my grant application, all in one weekend. The point is, I was totally focused, mentally and physically.

"You see, Jim, the average human consciously utilizes about 12% of his brain capacity. It's been calculated that Albert Einstein, the mega-genius, utilized a whopping 26% of his brain capacity. But that weekend, I was in the 30th percentile, man -all because of the time I spent in the tank."

"I don't care what percentile you were in, I'm not getting into a tank!"

"Look, Jim, I do what you tell me to do, and say what you tell me to say when we're on a case, because that's your department, especially the rough stuff. I'm your Guide - and my department is researching and testing your Sentinel abilities, so that we can understand them better, and you can stay alive to use them."

Blair tilted his head upwards, meeting Jim's blue eyes straight on. "I'm speaking to you as your Guide, now, Jim. We need to do this testing. The idea behind a flotation tank is to eliminate outside influences in order to increase your mental awareness and concentration. Mind over matter. Bottom line, it 's about control."

Jim blinked at Blair's use of his "I have to learn to control it" argument. "All right, I'll do it," he sighed, and another thought crossed his mind. "How long is a session, anyway?"

"A normal session is an hour, " Blair began, then tacked on before Jim could protest, "but for your initial session, we'll only do 15 minutes. Fifteen minutes is nothing, man. We've been arguing longer than that!"

He glanced at the silent Sentinel. "Are we okay, here. Jim?" Relieved when Jim nodded, Blair surveyed his remaining breakfast, and Jim's half-full plate. "Now, how about I zap our food and we can finish our breakfast?"

*****

"See? I told you the place would be deserted," Blair said as he escorted Jim into Behavioral Psychology Lab Four. "No one likes late afternoon classes on Fridays, man. Even the grad students and profs are at the bars, kicking back and drinking cold ones."

Jim blinked, his vision overwhelmed by the whiteness of the room. He narrowed his eyes and concentrated on reducing the brightness of the room, then scanned it intently. The room was the size of a small lecture hall with a non-sloping floor. It was dominated by the sensory deprivation tank placed about six feet in front of the far-left wall. The tank resembled a small private sauna, but it was only three feet high, instead of extending floor to ceiling, as a sauna would. The tank measured twelve feet by five feet and there was a clear line where the lid separated from the bottom of the tank about two feet from floor level. The tank was white, with incongruously rounded corners and steamer trunk fastenings at the top, middle and bottom of it's longer side. Just inches from the head of the tank on the short side,. three computer workstations occupied a chest-high table with a couple of barstool chairs in front of them. In the wall behind the tank, a partially opened door revealed a changing room, complete with two lockers and a mirror -Jim examined the rest of the room. The right hand wall was divided into two office cubicles, with a plate glass wall letting the offices' occupants view the rest of the lab. Closer to the room's center, a Formica-topped desk was flanked by a free-standing blackboard with jargon from the last class chalked on it. A half-dozen cafeteria chairs were loosely clustered by the desk and steel shelves full of 3-ring binders, weighty textbooks and computer printouts lined two of the room's walls.

Blair waited while Jim familiarized himself with the room, then said, "Okay, Jim, I'll walk you through what we're gonna do here. That", he gestured to his left, "is the tank, obviously." He walked alongside the tank and over to the terminals at its head, Jim following. "This is the monitoring station. I'll attach these leads," he picked up a neatly coiled ultra-thin cable, "over your heart and at your forehead. Don't worry. They're padded and you won't even know they're there, once you're in the tank. The leads are connected to the terminals, and they'll provide me with constant monitoring of your EEG and EKG - your brain waves and your heartbeat.

"Now, your normal heartbeat is in the 50-60 beats per minute range, right? It'll probably be a bit faster at first, while you get acclimated to your surroundings. The EEG monitors your brain waves - your brain activity, and once your 're relaxed, it should be dominated by theta waves. Are you with me so far, Jim?"

"Yeah, Chief."

"Okay, the last terminal monitors the conditions inside the tank, the temperature and salinity of the water, that sort of stuff. The water's at skin temperature, just like floating in a natural hot spring - only you'll be floating in salt water. The lab uses 800 pounds of Epsom salt to keep the salinity at 300 ppt -- about the same as the salinity of the Dead Sea." Blair looked at Jim's face. "Too much information, huh, Jim? Sorry, I got a little carried away." He pointed to the open door at the back of the lab. "Why don't you go shower and get changed into your swim trunks while I power up the system?"

Jim nodded, shifted his grip on his gym bag slightly, then walked to the changing room. Blair hit the space bar on the first pc, bringing the screen back up and started logging onto the system. He walked over to the observers' chairs and extracted a small notepad from his backpack, which he'd dropped on the first chair he saw when they entered. He flipped the pages until he found Jennifer's instructions for activating the monitors and began typing commands. Then he picked up the four coiled monitoring leads and unwound them, laying them out on the floor, right alongside the tank.

"Chief."

Blair glanced up to see Jim standing in front of him. No skimpy red Speedos for Ellison, he wore a pair of mid-thigh length black swimming trunks, with a butterscotch-colored life belt around his waist. "It was in the room," Jim said defensively about the life belt, "and it reeks of saltwater, so I know it 's been used before."

"Hey, whatever floats your boat is fine with me, Jim. " Blair stepped around Jim and over to the far end of the tank. He stooped to unfasten the bottom and middle locks on the tank, then stepped back towards Jim and unlocked the top latch.

Jim watched as Blair backed up, grasped the two handles located on either side of the middle fastening and flung the lid up. The interior of the tank was solid black, contrasting starkly with its all-white exterior. With the lid up, it reminded Jim of a rich man's black marble bathtub, except the finish was duller and it had no obvious faucets or spout. The tank already had about ten inches of water in it, and Blair leaned over to stick his right hand in, testing the temperature.

"Just right," he told Jim as he extracted his hand and dried it on his jeans. "Jennifer told me the University keeps the water heated all through the regular terms - it's cheaper."

Jim nodded, and realized he couldn't postpone getting into the tank while the water heated up, as he thought he would.

"Come on in, the water's fine. Just sit here," Blair pointed to the top of the tank, closest to the monitoring station. "Don't lie down, yet, I've got to get you hooked up to the monitors."

"Okay," Jim stepped into the tank and sat down. The water was hot -- skin temperature -- he remembered. Well, he had no objection to hot water, enjoyed it, in fact. It had become somewhat of a precious commodity, since Blair had moved in. Maybe this isn't going to be so bad, after all. He took a deep, relaxing breath - and practically gagged. "Sandburg! What the hell is that stuff!?"

Blair sat on the tank's rim to Jim's right. He held a small, open container in his left hand. "Tincture of Benzoin," he said, dipping a finger in the muck. "It smells awful, but it stays sticky even in water, and Jennifer uses it to attach the EEG and EKG leads." With that, Blair leaned over and smeared the Benzoin on Jim's bare chest, over his heart. He then bent over and picked up two of the leads lying on the floor by his feet and placed the padded ends on the benzoin, over Jim's heart.

"Do you know what that smells like?" Jim turned his head to glare at his younger partner.

"Sure I do, I've got it all over my fingers, " Blair said, dipping his finger into the benzoin for a second time. "Now, hold still," he added as he rubbed the benzoin onto Jim's left and right temples.

"Well, multiply that a thousand times and you've got what it smells like to me," Jim grumbled as Blair attached the EEG leads to his temples.

"So tune it out - and while you're at it, tone down the Epsom salt, too. I don't want you zoning out on smell." Blair surveyed his handiwork and tugged slightly on the leads, making sure they were securely attached to the Sentinel. Satisfied, he closed the tincture of Benzoin and then reached into his shirt pocket, pulling out a pair of earplugs.

"These are top of the line, Jim," he said, handing the earplugs over to his partner. "I want you to put them in, then I 'm going to give you a water pillow for your head, and you'll just lie back and float."

Blair bent over and retrieved the flotation cushion as Jim put the plugs in his ears, then shifted so that he was floating on his back. Blair tucked the water pillow under Jim's head and then stood up, reaching for the tank's lid. An unsettled look crossed Jim's face as Blair began lowering the lid. "Fifteen minutes, Jim. I promise," Blair said, knowing the Sentinel would hear him, despite the earplugs. Then he lowered the lid until it closed completely, and he refastened the latches.

Blair stepped back over to the terminals and noted the time: 5:35. The EKG showed Jim's heartbeat was about 85, but Blair expected that, and nodded as it dropped back to 60 within half a minute. Ellison was getting acclimated to the tank. Blair then stepped over to a chair and carefully retrieved a portable white noise generator from his backpack. He'd borrowed it from his friend Phil, a physics professor at the University. Blair set the thin black generator on the tabletop next to the terminals and turned it on. For a moment, he felt guilty. not telling Jim about the white noise generator, but the tank had been designed to be soundproof for normal hearing, not Ellison's super-sharp Sentinel hearing.

 

Floating, Jim Ellison watched as the lid descended, blotting out his view of Sandburg and the surrounding laboratory. "Fifteen minutes, Jim. I promise," he heard Blair say, then the lid closed and he heard three latches click into place, sealing him in the tank. He swore he could feel his eyes dilate as he tried to see something in the darkness, but he encountered only blackness. He brought his right hand out of the water and held it inches in front of his face. He felt the slight displacement of air currents created by his hand, but he couldn't see it. Even his vision couldn't operate in the total absence of light created inside the sensory deprivation tank.

Lowering his hand back into the water, he wriggled his fingers, hearing the faint splashing through his earplugs. He focussed on his hands, continuing to manipulate his fingers. It became difficult to separate the 95-degree water from his skin. It felt like there was no clear boundary, and his skin just merged into the hot water and kept on going... Jim shook himself, head rolling back and forth on the water pillow.

He took a deep breath to steady himself and coughed, the medicated stench of tincture of Benzoin permeating the tank's air. "So tune it out," he heard Sandburg say matter-of-factly.

Okay, Chief -- I don't want to smell it. -- I don't choose to smell it. I won't smell it... I don't smell it. Jim cautiously took another deep breath, then smiled. Not even a whiff of tincture of Benzoin. There was, however, a strong odor of Epsom salt. Well he knew what to do about that. He isolated the salt, then began. I don't want to smell it. -- I don't choose to smell it. I won't smell it... I don't smell it. Jim sniffed. No tincture of benzoin, and now no salty smell either. Mind over matter, eh, Chief? Guess I'm getting the hang of this.

What was he supposed to do next? Oh, yeah, relax. Jim deliberately tightened and then let go of the muscles in his arms and legs, and just let himself drift as he floated in the tank. He luxuriated in the hot, soothing water and opened his mind.

Gradually, almost imperceptibly, the inner darkness of the tank was replaced by tree branches and the hot Peruvian sun beat down on him. He heard his men talking, the native Indian language second nature to him. Two of the voices were louder now, and they contained a note of warning, which he chose to ignore. It had been too long since he'd been able to just relax and enjoy floating in water. The river was relatively cool, compared to the rest of the jungle.

Sudden movement in the branches overhead alerted him to the presence of an emerald tree boa, sunning in the tree. Before Jim could react, he was yanked out of the water by two of his Indian commandos. Once he was safely on the bank, they lectured him on the dangers of the river, jabbing their fingers at two caimans, the local version of the crocodile, gliding through the water where he had been floating.

Jim heard his heart pounding and turned to thank his men, but they were gone and he was back in the dark, alone. He shook himself mentally. Blair had mentioned that some people reported vivid hallucinations or visions wile they were in the tank. Get a grip on yourself. Jim admonished himself, then sought to get his heartbeat back to its normal, slower pace. A couple of deep breaths got him focussed, but he was still overly aware of his hartbeat. He discarded the sound of it and reached with his hearing, searching for other sounds. His Sentinel ears picked up nothing else, inside or outside the tank, which surprised him. He did not expect that level of sophisticated soundproofing in the University's sensory deprivation tank.

He considered taking out the earplugs and trying again, but that would be - well, cheating. Sandburg wouldn't like that, it would spoil all his test results and - they might have to do this again. No way, Chief. So as long as he was here, he might as well stick it out for another - how many minutes? How long have I been in here? I know Blair said that people tended to lose track of time in here, but this is ridiculous.

"Fifteen minutes is nothing, man. We've been arguing longer than that!" Blair's last words from two days ago popped into his head. So, if he reconstructed their breakfast conversation word for word, before he reached the end of it, Blair would open the lid and free him from the tank. Jim nodded to himself and concentrated on remembering their conversation. Determined to avoid another flashback hallucination, Jim grounded himself in the present by talking out loud.

"Jim! Breakfast's ready!"

"Ham and cheese omelet?"

"Actually, Jim, it's ham, cheese, and cheese..."

Inevitably, he zoned out.

 

*****

Blair studied the computer screens tracking Ellison. The initial speeded up heart rate had slowed to Jim's usual 55 or so beats per minute and stayed that way for several minutes. The EEG showed an emerging dominance of theta waves, suggesting that Jim was gradually entering a deeply relaxed state. Suddenly, the EKG spiked and the recorded heart rate looked like it had doubled. Blair anxiously watched the screen and compared it to the EEG, trying to decipher what was going on with Jim. He remembered Jennifer telling him that some people experienced hallucinations while meditating in the tank. Maybe that's what happened to Jim -or even a flashback? Whatever it was has his adrenaline going and his heartbeat soaring. Blair checked the EKG monitoring screen again and noticed that the heartbeat was now slowing down again. Good, he's controlling it. Wonder if he'll tell me what happened? Hmmm... maybe if I sound like I already know he had some sort of flashback, he'll level with me.

"Excuse me, sir," a respectful voice spoke from Blair's right side. Startled by the intrusion, he whirled. A man a few inches taller than him had magically appeared, clad in a white lab coat and sporting a Jags cap on his head. A white cleaning cloth was held loosely in his right hand.

"What?" Blair asked, then remembered the white noise generator was still active. That's why I didn't hear him come in. Glancing past the stranger, he saw an industrial-sized waste receptacle on a wheeled base, with several bottles of cleaners and solvents attached to one side of the waste container. "Am I in your way?"

"Not at all, sir. I'll just clean around you." The man took a step closer to Blair, and began wiping the desktop in front of him. Unexpectedly, he thrust the cloth in Blair's face and grabbed the anthropologist firmly by the arm. Blair gagged at the cloying smell of chloroform, and looked into the smiling gray eyes of Lee Brackett. "Brackett!" he gasped, then collapsed, succumbing to the chloroform.

Lee Brackett easily caught Blair as he fell unconscious, and carried him over to the waste receptacle. One handedly, he removed the lid from the waste container, dumped Blair into it, then closed it. Brackett walked back past the terminals and over to the tank. He stared at the sealed tank, then grinned. "Goodbye, Jim." He strode over to the cleaning cart and whistled as he rolled the cart over across the room and out the laboratory door.

 

* * * * *

Jennifer Abarr stared at the sign on the closed door: "Artifact Storage, Room 3." Tacked under the official placard, the handlettered name "Blair Sandburg" was written on the back side of an index card. She smoothed her skirt and glanced from the locked door to her watch. 9:05 p.m. She was five minutes late, but where was Blair? Maybe they'd gotten their wires crossed and he was waiting for her at her office? Jennifer dug in her purse for a pen and paper, hurriedly scribbled a note saying she was going to her office and slid it under the door. Then she walked quickly down the corridor, up the basement stairway and out of the Anthropology Building. She retied her sweatercoat as she stepped into the brisk October air and crossed campus, heading for the Psychology Building.

Jennifer entered the three story brick building and smiled at Walter, the psych building's nighttime security guard. She passed through the inner fire doors and threaded her way down three hallways until she reached Behavioral Psychology Laboratory 4. Light shone through the door's cutout window and the door was unlocked. Jennifer swung it open, confident that Blair was waiting for her inside.

"I'm sorry I'm late, Blair. I thought we were meeting in your--" she broke off, realizing that she was talking to an empty room. Something isn't right. Jennifer's glance fell on a backpack, lying on one of the chairs. She approached the chair for a closer look and saw the stone fetish attached to the bag's opening flap. Without a doubt, it was Blair's backpack. Certain that something was out of kilter, Jennifer glanced sharply around the room. Her gaze fell on the sensory deprivation tank and she approached it.

The tank appeared normal, closed and locked. She scanned the tank more thoroughly and noticed something on the floor by the head of the tank. The monitor leads were still hooked up!

Automatically, she unfastened the latches. Blair's a graduate fellow. He'd never leave the equipment lying around like this! She flung the lid back and bit off a scream. A man was floating in the tank! Jennifer took a steadying breath and peered down at the stranger. Unblinking blue eyes stared back up at her. Ohmigod!

Years of first aid training took over. Jennifer bent down and touched the floating stranger. "Can you hear me? Are you all right?" Not really expecting an answer, Jennifer placed her fingers on his neck, trying to take his carotid pulse. Fifteen seconds passed with no discernible result, and she withdrew her hand. Try again. As she reached for the man's neck, she noticed the leads attached to his temples and chest. Of course!

Jennifer sprang to her feet and raced the few steps to the monitoring terminals. All three screens were dark. She swatted at the middle keyboard and the darkened screen instantly lighted up, showing the EKG readings from the tank. She stared at the EKG screen for several seconds; there was a pulse, faint and very slow, but there. He's alive!

Jennifer dashed across the lab and into her office, the first of the glass walled cubicles overlooking the lab. She grabbed her phone and dialed 911, quickly explaining the situation to the 911 dispatcher. After that call was finished, she quickly dialed the building's security number. "Walter, this is Jennifer Abarr. I've got an emergency here in psych lab 4. Send someone down here immediately. I just called 911, and I'm waiting for the paramedics. Send them down here when you see them, too."

She hung up the phone and stepped back into the lab, walking toward the tank. She tried to think ahead. What're the paramedics gonna want to know when they get here? As much as they can about- him. But he's a stranger!

Jennifer glanced up from the tank and saw the open door to the changing room. She quickly walked around the tank and into the small room. The first locker was empty, but the second was full of men's clothes. She pulled out a leather jacket and searched the pockets for a wallet or other id. Coming up empty, she replaced the jacket on its hook and took out a pair of black jeans. Feeling inside a back pocket, she pulled out a small leather case and opened it. Jennifer flipped the case open and stared at a gold shield with the number 714 emblazoned on it. "Cascade police!" Blair, what've you gotten yourself into!?

She closed the case and dug into the next pocket, trying to find the policeman's wallet. The last pocket had a billfold and she opened it, looking at the Washington driver's license issued to James D. Ellison. Jennifer replaced the pants and closed the locker. Slipping both ID's into her sweater pocket, she left the changing room. The paramedics hadn't arrived yet and she walked back to the tank. She glanced at the man - James J. Ellison - in the tank. He hadn't moved, as far as she could tell, and his staring blue eyes unnerved her.

Walking past the tank, Jennifer stopped at the personal computers and stared at the center screen, the EKG still displaying the cop's very slow heartbeat. How long has he been in the tank? She brought up the inactive window and deiconized the login window to restore it. Last login 17:27:34 on October 20, 1995.

He's been in the tank for over three and a half hours?!

The door burst open behind her and the paramedics strode through, escorted by Walter. The two paramedics briskly wheeled a stretcher between them. "Where's the patient?" one of the men asked.

"In the tank," Jennifer answered. She explained what she knew about the man and his condition as the two paramedics maneuvered the stretcher close to the sensory deprivation tank. The first attendant carefully disconnected the EKG and EEG leads from Ellison. Then the three men lifted Ellison out of the tank and onto the stretcher. They wrapped him in blankets and strapped him down after checking his vital signs.

"Can you tell us anyone who needs to be notified, ma'am?" the shorter paramedic asked after writing down the information Jennifer had given him.

"The police," Jennifer said. "He's one of them."

"The police? Maybe you should accompany us to the hospital then, ma'am."

"Yes, I think I will." Jennifer said, and followed the paramedics and their patient out of the laboratory.

* * * * *

"Guu-ugh," Blair groaned and opened his eyes. He was lying on his side on a cement floor and from his eye level it looked almost deserted. What 's going on? I was in the lab, checking the monitors and then-- "Jim."

"Ellison's not here," a Voice spoke from above him. "Will I do instead?"

Two combat boots had planted themselves next to Blair and his eyes followed the shoes upwards past camouflage clothes. He rolled over onto his back and discovered that his hands were cuffed in front of him and Lee Brackett was standing over him. "No! Where's Jim?"

"I imagine he's right where you left him, in the tank."

"The tank? Oh, no!" Sandburg pushed himself up into a sitting position, then got his knees under him and rose awkwardly to his feet.

Brackett watched only inches away, making no attempt to interfere. Once Sandburg was on his feet, Brackett calmly drew his gun and tapped the anthropologist on the shoulder with it. "Whoa, Chief. Where do you think you're going?"

Blair glared at the ex-CIA agent turned rogue. "Back to the lab. I've got to get Jim out of that damned tank!"

"No, " Brackett shook his head. "That's not in the cards, Chief."

"Don't call me that!"

Smack! Brackett's free hand slapped Blair's right cheek. "In case it's escaped your attention, you're in no position to give orders, Chief. " Brackett smiled, spelling it out. "You're the captive and I 'm the captor in our little scenario here."

"And what little scenario is that? What's your game plan?" Blair asked, recalling how much Brackett liked to boast about his plans.

"Revenge, pure and simple. You and Jim cost me plenty: the millions I was going to get from stripping that ACVX plane, and the five months I spent behind bars, until I escaped last week. And now it's payback time."

"Oh yeah? What're you gonna do?"

"It's already been done -- to Jim at least. Gotta hand it to you, Chief. Putting a man as dependent on his senses as Jim is into a sensory deprivation tank -- why, it's downright diabolical. Wish I'd thought of it."

"No! I only meant to help Jim, not--"

"Help him? I'd say you helped him -- right into the Cascade Mental Hospital."

Blair tilted his cuffed hands up to glance at his watch. 11:30. Jim had been in the tank for almost six hours... What's he gonna do? He'll be trying to hear when I left the white noise generator on, trying to see in total darkness. -- He'll zone out! IF it doesn't kill him, he'll be a basket case by the time someone finds him. That's the truth, Sandburg -- even if it's being spoken by a total dick like Brackett. Oh, Jim, I'm so sorry, I should've listened to you...

"Hey, Chief!" Brackett prodded him with the gun and Blair was brought back to his own predicament. "You have a very expressive face, you know that? Seeing your guilt - that's part of my payback. Call it a down payment."

"Go to hell!" Blair snarled, then he forced himself to set aside his guilt and think. "How'd you know about the experiment anyway? Jim didn't even tell Simon, and I didn't tell anyone except -- Jennifer! Is she part of this?" He shook his head. "I can't believe that. I never mentioned Jim's name to her. For all she knew, I was going to get into the tank myself."

"Jennifer was a catalyst. I 'm an old friend of her family -- they know me as Alan Carstairs. I knew all about Jennifer's work, and I asked her to ask you out, as a favor for a friend of a friend. I knew that if I could get the two of you together, she'd tell you about her experiments. And once you found out about it, you couldn't pass up the opportunity to test Jim's Sentinel abilities in the tank." Brackett looked into Blair's eyes. "Jim Ellison trusted you a hell of a lot, Chief. I can't see him stepping into that tank for anyone else."

"Fifteen minutes, Jim. I promise." Damn Brackett! He sure knows which buttons to push. What did Jack Kelso call him? The right combination of guts, brains, stamina -- and complete amorality. How'm I supposed to beat that? With Jim out of the picture, I'm on my own. Wait a minute. How do I know Jim's really out of the picture? He survived being thrown off a train, maybe he can get through several extra hours in the tank, too. So I need to hang onto Brackett until the cavalry shows up. "What do you want me to say, Brackett? Jim and I -- we're partners. And you trust your partner."

Lee Brackett shook his head. "Wrong tense, Chief. You were partners." He replaced his gun in its belt holster, then grabbed Blair's left hand and pulled his shirt sleeve up. Brackett shifted his hold so that he grasped Blair firmly just above the wrist, then he extracted a filled syringe from the olive green utility pouch on the other side of his cammo belt.

"What's that?"

"The next step in my plan. I call it a meekening agent." Before Blair could do or say anything further, Brackett placed the syringe over the vein at Blair's wrist and pushed the plunger home.

"Ow! What is that stuff?"

"It's perfectly harmless, Chief. Just makes you more suggestible. It'll kick in any minute now."

"Suggestible? Why?"

"Because we're going to infiltrate Ft. Brickman, and I can't do that unless you cooperate." Before Blair could protest, he continued, "Obviously you have no intention of doing that, so I'm borrowing one of your methods: hypnosis."

"Hypnosis?"

"Yes, and I figured since you use it on Jim, you might be more resistant then most subjects. So I drugged you, to make you more amenable to the idea. How about it, Chief? You're getting sleepy now, aren't you?"

"Yeah..."

"Good, just close your eyes and relax." Brackett waited until Blair complied. "That's right, take a deep breath and relax. Now, I'm going to count to five, and while I'm counting, you'll sink deeper and deeper into sleep. You'll hear my voice and obey me without question. You will do everything I tell you to do. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Good. One, two, three, four, five. Open your eyes."

Sandburg's eyes popped open.

"Hold out your hands, Chief." Blair placed his hands in front of him and Brackett unlocked the handcuffs and slipped them back into place on his belt. "Who am I?"

"Lee Brackett."

"No, I'm not; I'm Jim Ellison. From now on, when you see my face, you will recognize me as Jim Ellison. From now on, when you hear my voice, you will hear Jim Ellison's voice. You will treat me the same way that you treat Jim Ellison. You will do what I tell you to do. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now, look at me again. Who am I?"

Blair smiled. "Jim Ellison."

"That's right, Chief. One other thing, Jim has never been in the tank, you haven't met Jennifer Abarr. The idea of putting Ellison in a sensory deprivation tank has never even occurred to you. Repeat that back to me."

"Jim has never been in the tank. I never met Jennifer Abarr. The idea of putting Jim into a tank has never even occurred to me," Blair dutifully parroted back.

"Very good, Chief. Now, in a little while I'm going to count to five and you'll wake up. You'll find yourself in a warehouse with Jim and you'll be waiting for him to brief you. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Now, once more, who am I?"

"Jim Ellison."

"That's right," Lee Brackett smiled. "And I will stay Jim Ellison until you hear the word 'gotcha'. After you hear the word 'gotcha', your memory will return and you will see me as I really am. But until that time, Lee Brackett is Jim Ellison. Is that clear, Chief?"

"Yes, clear."

"All right, I'm going to start counting now. You'll wake up feeling safe and you won't remember anything that happened after you and Jim left work tonight. Instead, you'll remember having a date and cutting it short to meet Jim in the warehouse. Repeat that."

"I had a date and I cut it short to meet Jim at the warehouse," Blair repeated.

"Excellent! I'm counting now, and you're slowly raising your level of consciousness. One, two, three, four, five."

Blair Sandburg glanced around the large room, empty except for his partner. "Jim! What's so important that I had to cut my date with Kerry short?"

"We're helping the Army out of a jam, Chief."

"The Army?"

"Yeah, we're going to infiltrate Ft. Brickman."

"Infiltrate?" Blair focused on the camouflage outfit that Jim was wearing. "You mean go undercover?"

"No, just unnoticed."

"Why?"

"It seems the Army has been having a problem with pilfering lately. Someone's been systematically stealing their heavy equipment." Blair rolled his eyes. "Specifically, eight Army tanks have turned up missing from West Coast bases in the last three months. It's pretty obvious that someone fairly high up in the command chain is involved, and the military wants to catch him red-handed. So they want someone to plant tracking devices on all the tanks in Ft. Brickman and to record their serial numbers. Brickman is likely to be the next target of the thieves."

"So the Army needed an outsider with a military background to surreptitiously bug the tanks and they chose you."

"Yeah, lucky me."

"So why are we here?" Blair gestured at their empty surroundings.

"A buddy of mine is going to drop off an Army van here at 5:30 tomorrow morning. It's our transportation onto the base. Until then, I suggest you get a little shuteye. We've got a busy day ahead of us tomorrow, Chief." Jim walked over to a stack of gear, the only furnishings in the room and threw Sandburg a sleeping bag.

Blair unrolled the bag and sat down on it to remove his shoes and belt. "I'll wear the uniform, but I'm not cutting my hair," he said as he slipped into the sleeping bag and then zipped it up.

"You can hide it under a cap. Besides, if this goes right, no one's going to see us or even know we were ever on base."

Blair nodded, then noticed that Jim's sleeping bag was still rolled up. "Hey, Jim, you going to bed anytime soon?"

"In a little while, Chief, I've got some plans to go over first."

"Night, Jim."

"Night, Chief," Lee Brackett waited until he heard Blair's breathing even out into sleep, then he unrolled the second sleeping bag and crawled into it.

Blair's shoulder was being shaken. "Rise and shine, Chief. It's five a.m."

Groggy, Sandburg cracked his eyes open and looked at --. He rubbed his eyes. For a moment, he thought he saw someone else standing over him, but no, it was only his partner. "Morning, Jim. What's up?"

"You're not, you're still flat on your backside. Get movin', Andy's gonna be here with our transportation in half an hour."

Blair crawled out of his sleeping bag and walked over to the stack of gear. He picked up the camouflage pants, shirt and cap stacked neatly on top.

"Bathroom's in the next room," Jim motioned behind him. "Breakfast will be ready by the time you get back," Ellison said, cracking eggs over a portable camper's stove.

"Good, I thought we were going to be stuck with MRE's for a minute." Blair took his clothes and left for the bathroom.

Twenty minutes later, they had both dressed, demolished breakfast and cleaned and put away their eating utensils. Jim's friend Andy showed up with a Military Police van, exchanged a few words with Ellison, and then left.

Sandburg climbed into the passenger seat of the van and watched as Jim took the wheel. "An MP van? Isn't that kind of, I don't know, conspicuous, Jim?"

"I told you before," Jim said as he started the van, "Ideally, we won't be seen by anyone. It's still hours to daylight and we're only half an hour from the tanks. If we are spotted by some perimeter guard or roadblock, they're not going to question any MP about his business on base, I can assure you. Here, put this on." He handed Blair an MP armband and then drove off.

Half an hour later, Jim pulled off the main road and turned down a little-used dirt road. Figuring that Ellison knew where he was going, Blair endured the bumpy ride without comment. Jim parked the van under a tree and killed the engine. "We're here."

"Yeah, but where's here?" Blair glanced up through the van's windshield at the easily visible stars. "We must be out in the boonies for the stars to be so clear, with no Earthlight getting in the way. I thought you said we were going to Ft. Brickman?"

"The fort's about fifteen minutes that way. We're on their proving grounds. The tanks are going to be used in a live ammo drill later this morning, and they were moved into position last night."

Jim pocketed the keys. "Any more questions?"

"No."

"Then I suggest we get moving, we've got ten tanks to bug before daylight." He glanced at his watch, "That's about an hour and a half from now, Chief."

"Are we vampires that we're gonna get scorched by the sunlight?" Blair grumbled as he climbed out of the van and locked the door.

"I heard that. I'd just prefer not to leave an Army base that we're on illegally in broad daylight, if it's all the same to you."

Ellison paused for a moment, getting his bearings. "Let's go. The first tank is this way," he started walking north, Sandburg two steps behind.

Four minutes of trudging through the darkness brought them to the first tank. Jim jumped up on the tank's front side and walked over to the outside footholds which led to the tank's tower entrance. Jim climbed up the metal rungs and opened the hatch, checking to see that Sandburg was right behind him. He stepped down into the tank and then sat on the sparse driver's seat in the tank's tight-fitting inner workings.

Blair climbed down the hatch and glanced at the gages and gadgets by the tank's two seats. "This sure doesn't look like a modern tank, Jim. Except for that gismo there" - he pointed to a protruding black box extending from between the two seats, "it looks like a Vietnam-era tank."

"A tank doesn't have to be state-of-the-art to be worth stealing," Jim observed mildly. He pulled a small notepad and pen out of the utility pouch on his belt and pointed at the unoccupied chair. "Why don't you read me the serial number? It's on the underside of the navigator's chair."

"What a stupid place to put a serial number," Blair muttered as he got down on the floor and reached out with both hands for the bolted-into-place chair.

Click! A pair of handcuffs were slapped into place around his wrists. Startled, Blair glanced up at his partner for an explanation.

"Gotcha!"

Suddenly, Jim's grinning face was replaced by Lee Brackett's. All of Blair's true memories came flooding back. He was kidnapped by Brackett... Jim was trapped in the sensory deprivation tank... Brackett had drugged him, and then hypnotized him, so he saw Jim instead of Brackett...and he'd fallen for it, hook, line and sinker...

"This sucks!"

"Not from where I'm sitting, Chief." Brackett taunted. "I'm quite the actor, aren't I? Got Ellison's delivery down pat."

"You drugged and hypnotized me, man. You could've talked like Rocky and I wouldn't know the difference."

"It was an interesting problem in logistics. How to smuggle myself and an unwilling companion onto a military base without getting spotted? What do you think of my novel solution?"

"It seems like a lot of effort for very little reward. Why're we here, anyway?"

"Don't tell me the symmetry escapes you, Chief. Jim was trapped in a tank, now you're trapped in a tank. A tank that is going to be a target in the live ammo exercises commencing at oh-eleven hundred hours.

"You see that black box over there, that you spotted earlier?" Brackett rose to his feet and took one step, putting him right next to Blair's prone figure. "It's a remote navigaton system, programmed to drive the tank during the exercises. You were right, this is an old tank. The Pentagon is getting tired of our surplus older combat vehicles ending up in Third World skirmishes, so they started rigging them to give our fighter pilots moving targets instead. The pilots gain invaluable 'combat' experience and everyone at the Pentagon is happy, too."

Blair focused on the part of the explanation that was relevant to him. "Eleven o'clock? You expect me to just hang around here til then? Or are you going to stay around past daylight, keeping an eye on me?"

"No, I'm not. But I haven't finished securing you yet, Chief. You see, I wanted to drug you, to leave you waiting, paralyzed and aware, for the bombs to start dropping. Unfortunately, any drug that would paralyze you for that long would also make you stop breathing, leaving you dead far too soon." Brackett swooped down and dragged Blair to his feet. "So I'll have to improvise, like the good old American knockout punch." Wham! Brackett's fist connected solidly with Blair's jaw and the anthropologist sagged forward, leaning on the rogue agent.

Brackett lowered Blair to the floor, quickly unlocking the handcuffs. Then he turned the dazed man over on his stomach and recuffed Blair's wrists behind his back. Brackett then rolled Sandburg back to his original supine position and extracted a thick roll of duct tape from his pouch. Whistling, he began wrapping Blair's feet in the shiny gray tape using a forward moving spiral several layers thick,. starting at the tip of his shoes. Halfway up Blair's thighs, he ran out of tape and Blair began to stir.

Brackett stopped for a moment, calmly punched the other side of Blair's jaw, and knocked him out again. He extracted a second roll of duct tape and patiently started where he left off, roughly rolling Blair from front to back as necessary to wrap the tape completely around him. When he finished, Brackett stood and surveyed his handiwork. Blair was totally covered in duct tape from head to toes, only his eyes and nose remained uncovered.

Brackett waited until Blair woke up, trying to speak through the duct tape.

"Goodbye, Chief." Brackett smiled, then climbed out of the tank, closing the hatch with finality.

* * * * *

"Simon!" Lt. Carolyn Plummer opened the glass door to the private ICU room, rousing Simon Banks from a light doze. The police captain shifted in his chair and focussed on the woman looking aghast at the hospital bed. Jim Ellison, her ex-husband, lay unmoving, hooked up to a row of monitors. "What happened to Jim?"

"Carolyn, I tried to reach you last night, but you were out. I'm sorry I had to just leave a message on your answering machine."

"I came as soon as I got the message. But what happened to Jim?"

"We don't know exactly," Simon sighed. "A young woman found him floating unattended in Ranier University's sensory deprivation tank about 9:15 last night. He was unconscious and apparently, he'd been in the tank for three and a half hours."

"Jim? In a sensory deprivation tank? Why would--?" she broke off. "At the University, you say? Then - where's Sandburg?"

"That's another piece of the puzzle," Simon said grimly. "Sandburg's missing. No one's seen him since he and Jim left the precinct yesterday. The lady who found Ellison, Jennifer Abarr, had a 9:00 date with Sandburg. She went to pick him up at his office and it was deserted. So she went to her office, in the psych lab. She didn't see Sandburg, but she found Jim in the tank, and Sandburg's backpack. She's convinced something happened to him, and I think she's right. I've got an APB out on Sandburg, but no results so far.

"We need to find Sandburg," Simon finished quietly, almost talking to himself. "He's the only one who can help Jim."

"What did you say, Simon?" Carolyn asked sharply. "How can Sandburg help Jim? He's not a doctor."

"It's complicated."

"What aren't you telling me, Simon? If it concerns Jim, I have a right to know. I was married to the man for Pete's sake!"

"Jim has - well, he described it to me as hyperactive senses." Simon looked up at Carolyn. "All five of them. It's a genetic advantage that he wasn't even aware of, until his time in Peru heightened them. After he was rescued, his senses reverted back to normal and they stayed that way until the Switchman bombing case. Something about that case put his senses back in the heightened mode they were operating on in Peru, and they've been hyperactive ever since. Jim can hear, see, taste, touch and smell things far beyond the range of normal human senses."

Carolyn absorbed Simon's words, recalling some of Jim's

bizarre detecting abilities from previous cases, such as smelling the duck waste in that water sample from the Yellow Scarf Killer case. "And where does Sandburg fit in?"

"He's made a study of people with heightened senses in pre-civilized cultures - calls them Sentinels. Sandburg told Jim that every Sentinel needs a partner, and somehow got Jim to go along. I'm not sure how they met, but the partnership seems to be agreeing with Jim. You've noticed how he's changed since Sandburg started tagging along on his assignments."

"Okay, that's the background. How does that explain Jim's current condition?"

"Well, I know that Sandburg has devised experiments to help Jim control his senses and to find the extent of his abilities before. Jim told me that Sandburg's experiment saved his life when he was thrown off that train a while back. My guess is he put Jim in the tank to conduct more experiments, and something happened before they were finished. Jim got left in the tank and he, uh, I think Sandburg would say he zoned out."

"Zoned out?"

"Yes, if Jim focuses too strongly on any one sense, he loses touch with the other four, and the rest of the outside world, as well. That's the main reason pre-civilization Sentinels had partners."

"And you think if we can find Sandburg, he can reconnect Jim to the outside world?"

"I hope so. The doctors said Jim is in a coma, but it's an unusual and atypical coma."

"But why would anyone want to kidnap Sandburg, Simon?"

"Beats me." Simon shrugged.

"I just can't see anyone wanting to kidnap an anthropologist," Carolyn shook her head, frustrated. She pondered motives, then another thought struck her. "Now, a cop - even a police observer, could make enemies from his first day on the job."

"His first day," Simon repeated, vividly recalling that day's assault on police headquarters. He rose excitedly from his chair. "Garrett Kincaid! I'm heading back to the office, gonna start checking on the whereabouts of Kincaid and the rest of his lunatic Sunrise Patriots." He reached the door, and paused. "If all of Kincaid's men are present and accounted for, I'll check into the rest of Ellison's cases. Are you coming with me?"

"No, I'll stay here with Jim for a while." Carolyn settled into the chair and stared at Ellison. He remained completely oblivious to his surroundings, eyes closed and unmoving. Wonder if shouting would have any effect? I have some choice words to say to you, Jim Ellison. And I thought you shut me out of your life when we were married!

She remembered their last dinner together, when Jim thought he was being poisoned, and how he'd apologised for making a scene, afterwards...

Carolyn stood up and walked over to the door. Opening it, she spotted the uniformed policeman that Simon had guarding Jim's hospital room. "Ordway."

"Lt. Plummer," the officer answered quickly.

"I don't want you to let anyone into this room without clearing it with me. I don't care if it's the Chief of Surgery or the Chief of Police, you ask me for permission to enter, and you wait until I say it's ok before letting anyone in. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good." Carolyn closed the door and twisted the knob for the room's vertical privacy shades. Once the metal slats were fully closed, she stepped over to the visitor's chair and began unbuttoning her suit jacket. She took off the plum colored coat and placed it on the chair, then unbottoned her blouse and removed it as well. "Jimmy, you can be an unfeeling bastard at times," she addressed him as she unzipped her skirt and slipped it off. She kicked off her high heels and walked over to the other side of the bed, near the glass wall. "But I remember other times, and I think you do, too."

With that, she lifted the cover and crawled into the bed. She snuggled up against Jim's right side. "Remember our Sunday morning lie-ins?" Her stockinged foot stroked up and down Jim's bare leg and she untied Jim's hospital gown and gently eased her hand through the opening. Carefully avoiding the monitors, she drew her fingers up and down Jim's smooth chest. A few minutes passed, then Carolyn let her fingers stray up to Jim's face.

Rising on one elbow and turning to lie on her side, she regarded her unresponding partner. "Oh, Jimmy," she sighed and then brought her face down to his right ear. "Remember this?" she whispered, and nibbled on his ear, then gently blew in it.

Strong arms encircled her back and Carolyn was shifted up, so that she was lying on top of Jim. Before she could utter a word, he rolled them back to the right - and over the edge of the single bed.

Thud!

Jim blinked, and found himself seated on a linoleum floor, with his arms full of his ex-wife. Carolyn was clad only in a slip. His ears were filled with a high pitched squeal as the monitors went flatline; the leads had all been yanked off by his fall.

"You can't go in there!" He heard a frantic male voice. "Lt Plummer! Permission to enter!"

Before Carolyn could say anything, the door burst open and two ICU nurses flew in, flanked by Ordway. The nurses glanced from the empty bed to the two dishevelled people on the floor. One nurse stepped over to the screaming monitors and switched them all off. The other reached down to give Carolyn a hand up, then glared at Ellison. "Get back into bed! Alone!"

"Yes, ma'am," Jim meekly obeyed.

"I've put a call in to Dr. Melford," the second nurse said. "She should be here in a few minutes. I suggest your lady friend gets dressed before she arrives. Since you're fully awake," she smiled faintly, "we won't hook you back up to the monitors."

 

* * * * *

Detective Ellison closed the door of Psychology Laboratory 4 and stepped further into the room. Having no memory gaps or other problems from his period of unconsciousness, he had been cleared and released from the hospital in record time. Jim had retrieved his gun, dressed, and headed straight for the lab, Blair's last known location.

Jim took a deep, relaxing breath and opened up his sense of smell. Deodorants, perfumes, hair sprays, Epsom salt and that awfully penetrating tincture of Benzoin overwhelmed his olfactory sense. What the--? Jim thought about all the people who had been in the lab since last night: Jennifer, the paramedics, and if he knew Simon, at least a couple teams of policemen. He glanced at his watch: 9:47 a.m.. I'm running out of time, I just know it. Blair's running out of time. Come on, Ellison, THINK!

Jim's eyes fell on the sensory deprivation tank and he shifted them away, then focused on the computer terminals next to the tank. He crossed quickly over to the terminals, where Blair had spent most of his time. If I can pick up anything, it has to be here, Jim told himself and took another deep breath. He caught a whiff of cedar wood You and your damn natural deodorant, Chief. But it's working. Now I need to discard that and concentrate on what else is out there. Ellison ran through the "I don't smell it" routine he had worked out in the tank, and stretched his olfactory sense. Comet, Formula 401 and Lysol -- cleaning solvents?! - and he sniffed a trace of "Chloroform!"

Jim scrutinized the computer terminal on the desk in front of him. Seeing nothing unusual, he studied the desktop, then sank slowly to a crouching position, eyes following the right front desk leg down to the floor. He spotted something snagged on the leg's caster and reached for it. Picking the fragment up, he rose to his feet and examined it. It was an olive green and khaki dyed thread, not even a quarter inch long.

The door opened and Simon Banks strode into the room, hurrying over to his best detective. "Jim! Carolyn told me you were up and about. I figured you'd come here. Are you really all right, now?"

"I'm fine, Simon," Jim said impatiently. "Sandburg's the one you should be worried about. He's been kidnapped, by someone passing himself off as the cleaning staff."

"I'll check with the building's security, see if the cleaners were working last night," the captain decided that now was not the time to ask Jim for a detailed explanation. They had something more important to discuss, anyway. "Jim, did Carolyn tell you I've been checking out your enemies list?"

"She mentioned something about Garrett Kincaid, yeah."

"Kincaid and all the Sunrise Patriots are still behind bars," Simon said, then continued grimly, "Lee Brackett broke out of a maximum security federal prison last week. The Feds didn't see fit to pass the information along to us at the time, tho'."

"Brackett!"

"Must be out for revenge, but I'd think he'd be after both of you."

"Maybe he is," Jim's fist closed and his eyes strayed back to the tank. "He knows about my Sentinel abilities."

"So he kidnapped Sandburg, knowing you were in the tank?"

"It was Friday night. He probably didn't expect me to be found until Monday morning. And he took Blair because he didn't think anyone else could pull me back from a zone-out."

"So what'll he do to Sandburg, if he thinks you're out of the picture?"

"I don't know," Jim said, opening his fist to stare at the thread.

"What's that?"

"I found it on the floor. It's a thread from a military camouflage uniform - the genuine article."

"You think it came from Brackett? That's a stretch, Jim."

"I know, but follow me here, Simon. If Brackett disguised himself as part of the cleaning staff, all he'd need is one of those long white lab coats, he could've worn anything underneath. Besides," he took a deep breath, "someone wearing Army boots has been here recently. And believe me, I know Army boots when I smell 'em."

"Fort Brickman's the only Army base in the area. It's an hour's drive from here."

"More than that, Simon. The University's on the opposite side of town from the fort."

"Then let's get going!"

The two men hastily exited the lab.

* * * * * *

Blair Sandburg couldn't decide if he was worried or relieved that there was no clock inside the tank. Wrapped in the silver-gray duct tape like some Andy Warhol mummy, he stared at the tank's metal ceiling. He lay flat on his back in the middle of the tank, although he could force himself to roll to either side of the tank. He'd tried that earlier, and it had accomplished little. He'd tried banging his legs into the side of the tank several times. and only discovered that the tightly wrapped tape allowed him extremely limited mobility. Almost any move that he made with his upper body resulted on the tape pulling at his hair. His hands were numb from the handcuffs and the fact that he was lying on top of them didn't help. He'd rolled over on his side, but could do nothing from that position other than relieve his bound hands a little.

Screaming proved equally fruitless as the tape over his mouth muffled any sounds that he could produce. A painfully drawn out survey of the tank showed that the only protruding sharp object was the navigation system, next to his head. Figuring that the openings for his nose and eyes were the weakest points of his taped prison, Blair wriggled towards the sharp corner, bringing his head right up against it. He brushed his face against the corner of the navigation system, hoping to extend the gap by his nose. Each movement tugged at his hair, bringing tears of pain. After an intermineable time with no progress, he quit, giving himself and his aching scalp a rest as he reexamined the problem.

In hurtful spurts, Blair doggedly rolled, squirmed, and jarred himself through a half-circle, so that his feet were now closest to the corners of the remote navigation system. He rested for awhile, then determinedly began rubbing his ankles against the edge, hoping to saw through the confining duct tape. He set a pattern and made himself keep it. Lift feet and rub forty times, rest for sixty beats, then repeat.

After ten rubbing periods, he could detect no visible change in the tape, and his feet were as firmly bound as when he started. He paused to catch his breath and he desperately tried to come up with a new escape method.

Concentrate, and turn it upside down. His advice to Jim from when they were on that mined bridge with Brackett popped into his head. Upside down? Well, if I can't escape from the tank, maybe I can keep the tank from being a target - a moving target. Blair lifted his bound legs as high as he could and banged them against the exposed side of the remote navigation system, trying to physically damage the console, and prevent the tank from moving. Each time his legs hit the console, the impact jarred him from the toes on up, but the computer console didn't break or even dent. Blair kept it up as long as he could, but finally admitted to himself that he wasn't accomplishing anything.

This sucks! There must be something I've overlooked. But there wasn't. Reluctantly, he faced the idea that he wasn't going to get out of this one. I'm scared. Haven't been this scared since David Lash had me chained to that damned dentist's chair. Jim saved me then, but the cavalry isn't coming over the hill, this time.

An unexpected lurch jolted Blair and the tank started to move.

* * * * * *

Jim Ellison, grimly driving his speeding truck down the fast lane, passed the highway sign 'Exit 45 Ft. Brickman 2 miles'. The blue truck's portable police light was flashing, but the siren was silent. Sitting in the passenger seat, Simon Banks pulled out his cell phone and dialed information. "This is Captain Simon Banks, Cascade PD. I need the number for the base commander at Ft. Brickman immediately." He paused, then repeated a number, thanked the operator and hung up. Punching in the supplied number, Simon waited impatiently for the call to go through.

"Hello, this is police Captain Simon Banks, I need to speak to the base commander - "

"Colonel Harbuck," Jim interrupted as he changed out of the fast lane.

"Colonel Harbuck. It is very important that I speak to him immediately." The phone crackled an answer. "He's what?" Simon turned to Jim, "The colonel's on their proving grounds, for some sort of exercise."

"What kind of exercise?" Jim asked.

"What kind of exercise is that?" Simon listened, then relayed the information to Jim. "They're conducting live ammo exercises with bomber planes."

"What's the fastest route to the proving grounds?" Simon asked his telephone contact, as Jim maneuvered the truck into the exit lane. "Stay on the highway, three exits down," Simon passed on the route.

Ellison abruptly swerved the truck out of the exit lane and back onto the highway, he heard a horn blaring behind from the driver he had cut off.

"We're looking for State Road 1279. Take the exit and keep on going down the road. The field observation post is about seven and a half miles from the highway. The guy said the exercises started at oh-eleven hundred." Simon glanced at the digital clock on the dashboard: 11:03.

Jim clenched his jaw and the truck whizzed past the next two exits, then rapidly approached their exit. He veered the truck over to the exit lane, then continued his relentless pace down State Road 1279. Five miles flew by when Jim was distracted by a sound. He sought to pin it down. "A plane," he muttered, then, "It dropped something - a missile" he heard a distant explosion. "Sounds like it hit its target, whatever it is."

They drove up a slight incline and saw four army jeeps and two military vans parked off the road. Jim hurriedly skidded the truck to a halt, and he and Simon jumped out. They raced up a slight hill, towards two large army field tents - the observation post.

A sergeant intercepted them just outside the first tent. "Civilians aren't allowed here, gentlemen. You're on restricted Army property."

Simon pulled out his ID and started to explain their presence. Jim shouldered past the sergeant, ignoring him. He surveyed the lower lands that the outpost overlooked. There were ten Army tanks scattered over the field. Three of them were actually the smoking remains of bombed-out tanks, and of the seven left, three were moving.

Tanks! I've got a bad feeling about this... Control, he told himself, then strained to hear anything from the tanks, in front of him. He picked up one sound: a heartbeat. Blair!

Jim abruptly spun around and tore down the hill. Passing Simon, now talking to the sergeant and a captain, he yelled. "He's out there!" and raced to the parked jeeps. He jumped into the closest one and hardwired the ignition. Shifting the jeep into gear, he roared up the hill, past Simon and the others, then down the other side, towards the tank-strewn valley. He tracked Blair's heartbeat and turned the jeep forty-five degrees, towards a moving tank about 200 yards away. He was following the tank, closing on it, when he heard a plane overhead, then the whistling of a dropped missile.

BOOM!!!

The missile landed on the tank he'd been tracking and it exploded. "No! Blair!" Jim yelled, staring at the rising cloud of smoke and fire where the tank had been.

Stunned, he continued to drive forward, toward the burning remains, then he suddenly heard the heartbeat again. Bewildered, he glanced around and saw that a second tank had been moving on a parallel course, a hundred and fifty yards beyond the one that had exploded. He's in the other tank!! Hold on, Chief, I'm coming!

Jim pushed the jeep to its limits, pulled even with the moving tank, then ahead of it. He jammed the jeep into park and jumped out of the passenger side, closest to the tank, now lumbering towards him. Jim leaped onto the slow moving tank and scrambled over to the entrance tower. He climbed the rungs and opened the hatch, then descended into the tank.

For a second, Jim gawked at the strange apparition wrapped in silver, lying on the tank's floor. "Blair!" He took the single step needed to reach his partner and knelt next to Sandburg. Yanking out his cell phone, he dialed Simon's number. "I found him, Simon. He's in one of the tanks. He's bound up in a ton of duct tape, but he seems to be O.K.. See if you can get the colonel to call off the planes." Jim hung up the phone and shoved it back in his jacket.

"Mnnphh mhphph," Blair tried to speak but only nonsense escaped the tape.

Jim pulled out a Swiss Army knife from his pants pocket. "Luckily, I was a Boy Scout," he said as he flipped open the scissors. "Now, Chief, I'm going to remove the tape from your mouth first. I suggest you close your eyes."

He waited until Blair's eyes closed, then carefully cut into the opening at Blair's nose. He cut a rectangle, separating the tape over Blair's mouth from the rest of his wrapping. He pried up a corner of the tape, "This might hurt, Chief," he warned, then firmly ripped the tape off his mouth.

"Oww!"

"I did warn you, Chief." Jim said, then "Lie still, I'm going to start with your legs." He switched the scissors for a regular knife blade.

"Jim! What about the bombs?"

"I'm hoping Simon has convinced them to stop bombing by now," Jim said. "Relax. I haven't even heard an airplane since I climbed into the tank." Jim ran his hands lightly over the lower half of Blair's duct-taped legs, locating the small gap between his knees. Ellison poked the blade through the tape, puncturing it. He withdrew the blade and changed back to the scissors, then carefully cut a line between Blair's legs, downward from the knees. Prying an edge back from one thickness of tape, he looked up at Blair. "I think this'll be a lot easier if you're on your feet, Chief. Can you stand?"

"I'm willing to try."

"Good." Jim carefully grasped Blair by the upper arms and lifted him to his feet, keeping his hand around one of Blair's bound arms, he asked. "Can you stand by yourself?"

"I don't think so. Why don't you lean me against one of the chairs?"

"Okay." This accomplished, Jim knelt in front of Blair and started to unroll the duct tape. "You wanna tell me what happened with you and Brackett, Chief?"

"How'd you know Brackett was--?" Blair cut himself off, remembering that he'd been fooled into thinking he was talking to Jim before. "First you fill me in on what happened to you."

"Well, I zoned out in the tank. Your friend Jennifer found me there shortly after nine last night. She called the paramedics and they got me out of the tank and over to the University hospital. I was comatose, and they kept me overnight for observation," Jim continued to unwrap the duct tape from around Blair's legs. "The hosptial notified Simon - I guess he spent a fair amount of Friday night and this morning there."

"You were comatose? How'd you wake up? Did Simon--"

"No, Chief. Carolyn woke me up."

"Carolyn?"

"Yeah, Simon told her I was in ICU and she came down this morning. She got Simon to tell her - ah, about my Sentinel abilities."

"Carolyn knows about you!? How'd she handle it? D'you think she'll tell anyone?"

"I don't think so, Chief. Besides, I owe her, big time - and so do you."

"Yeah, I hear that. But I'm curious, Jim, how'd she reach you? You must've been zoned out for half a day."

"She used a - ah - highly personal method." Jim said nothing further, just continued to unwind the duct tape from his partner. By now Blair's legs were free from mid-thigh down. "Want to try standing again, Chief?"

Blair nodded and Jim helped him to his feet. Blair swayed for a few seconds, then found his balance. Jim rose to his feet and kept unravelling the tape, finally freeing Blair's hands from the tape. He quickly noted the handcuffs they were in and pulled out his handcuff key. "Blair! Why didn't you say anything about your hands?"

"Tell you the truth, they went numb and I sort of forgot about them, had other things on my mind."

Jim nodded, and used his key to unlock the handcuffs. For a moment, he was surprised that the key worked, then decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Ouch!" Blair yelped as the feeling started returning to his once-cuffed hands.

"Sorry, Chief. Tell me what happened to you, now." Jim suggested, hoping to get Blair's mind off his hurting hands.

"I was watching the monitor screens when Brackett came in, disguised as a cleaner. I didn't hear him until he was right next to me, because I had the white noise generator on. I should've told you I was going to use that," he interrupted himself guiltily. "I just wanted you to be as relaxed and isolated as possible while you were in the tank.

"I'm sorry, Jim. I should've listened to you when you said you didn't want to go in the tank. Instead, I bulldozed right over you, insisting that I knew what was best for you. And I almost got both of us killed. The next time you object so strenuously to one of my experiments, I'll listen, Jim, I swear."

"All's well that ends well. Besides, my time in the tank did improve my concentration, and maybe even my control, just like you said it would. Chief -what're you doing in army fatigues?" Jim asked, after taking a good look at him.

"Oh, that was Brackett and his little scheme. You remember Jack Kelso said he liked to set up elaborate traps for his opponents and watch them sweat? Well, he doesn't know the half of it." Blair filled Jim in on his time with Brackett while Ellison unwrapped more duct tape.

Jim paused in his task long enough to alert Simon that Lee Brackett might still be on the base and to watch for an unauthorized MP van. Then he went back to freeing Blair. Eventually he reached the point where Blair was tape-free from the neck down, and piles of duct tape strips covered the tank's floor. Jim stopped and looked at Blair, except for his mouth, nose and eyes, his head was covered in several layers of tape. "Chief, this next part is going to hurt."

"Yeah, I know, it felt like every move I made trying to escape ripped a chunk of hair out of my head. Hey, Jim, I'm mobile now. Can't we just wait and remove the rest at home? Maybe if I soak the tape in water first, it'll lose its stickiness and pull off easier."

"Sounds like a plan to me. Let's go, Chief." Jim led Blair out of the tank.

* * * * * *

Carolyn rang the doorbell at Jim's loft. Jim opened the door and she stepped inside. "Hi, Jim. How's Sandburg?"

"Oh, he's fine. He's in his room, poring over the results of our little experiment," Jim said as they walked over to the living room area. "Jennifer dropped by this morning with the printouts and everything. Can I get you a drink?"

"No, thanks. I wasn't planning on staying long." Carolyn surveyed the rooms that she had once shared with Jim. They were still neat as a pin, with the sofas and table positioned just so, but there were more bookcases and odds and ends than she remembered, Sandburg's imprint, no doubt.

"I'm glad you stopped by, Carolyn," Jim smiled. "I wanted to thank you properly for - uh, bringing me back from the zone-out. I don't think I said very much at the time, but I really appreciated it. You probably saved my life - and Blair's, by extension."

Carolyn shifted awkwardly. "I have to tell you, when Simon told me about your Sentinel abilities, my initial reaction was anger. I was furious that you kept such a vital part of your life secret from me, even though we worked together and saw each other on an almost daily basis."

"Carolyn, I --"

"Let me finish, please, Jim. Then I remembered that you were my ex-husband, not my husband. You were under no obligation to tell me anything. You once asked me why we were better friends divorced than married. Maybe its because as friends, we can accept and respect each other's privacy, and still like each other. Your little secret is safe with me, Jim, I won't tell anyone about your hyperactive senses."

"I know that, Carolyn, I just--"

"Don't interrupt, Jimmy. I have a secret, too. I've been offered a job as head of the forensics and technical support department in San Francisco - and I'm going to take it. You know my sister lives there with her family. She's been pestering me to move closer ever since our divorce, and I need a change."

"Congratulations, Carolyn. San Francisco is very lucky to be getting you. I'll miss you," he added softly.

"I'll miss you, too, Jim - as a friend."

They each took a step forward and ended up in a hug.

"Thank you," Jim whispered, then he released her from the embrace and kissed her gently. "Good luck in your new job." They walked back to the door. "Does Simon know?"

"He knows about the offer, I'm giving him my two weeks' notice tomorrow."

They paused at the door, and Carolyn reached for the doorknob. "Keep in touch," Jim said.

"I will," she smiled, "I'll E-mail you the Plummer Family Newsletter monthly. Good bye, Jim." she opened the door.

"Good bye, Carolyn."

Jim closed the door and pondered it for several seconds. Then he turned around and headed for Blair's room. "Hey, Chief, we've got a farewell party to plan."

THE END