There was one very notable thing about being blindfolded, Blair Sandburg decided; it made it far too easy to concentrate on other things, such as how much one's body could hurt after being pummeled by kidnappers. On the plus side, at least he wasn't seeing the bruises or blood, the sight of which he was just as happy to avoid. He didn't know how long it had been since he was taken, but he guessed it had been several hours judging by how hungry and thirsty he was.
"What's the matter, Hippie? You faw down and hurt yourself?" a voice taunted him, as a boot clad foot planted itself painfully in his ribs; with his hands tightly bound behind his back he was unable to protect himself. "You couldn't leave well enough alone, could you? Had to stick your little Jew nose in where it wasn't wanted or needed. Well, maybe this will teach you better manners. Not that you'll ever have a chance to exercise them. Still, one should not die ignorant, should they?" Another kick, this one to his thigh, punctuated the comment.
The voice was familiar, unpleasantly so, and the young man struggled to place it, thinking it was someone he'd met recently. As his tormenter wandered away again, Blair used the resultant peace to work backwards through the people he'd met in the last few days; ruling out all of them almost as soon as he thought of them. Until his memory stumbled across one person, and if he was a character in a cartoon a light bulb would have clicked on above his head. Of course, now it made sense. An ugly, hateful sense, but sense nonetheless.
Jasper McConnel.
But why would the Homicide detective be in cahoots with whomever it was killing the council members? Grateful to have something to distract him from the pain the cop had so gleefully inflicted on this body, Sandburg mentally reviewed the information regarding the businesses involved, certain he'd not seen McConnel's name anywhere. So, was the detective simply hired protection? An insider to protect the operation? Maybe it wouldn't hurt to ask. In most of the movies and television shows he'd seen the bad guy was always anxious to explain their 'brilliant' plan to their victim.
"Hey, McConnel, where do you fit into all this?" he asked casually, flinching when he heard the heavy footsteps rapidly approaching his spot. This time the cop targeted the student's vulnerable right knee and the younger man howled at the intense pain as it was brutally dislocated. A thick-fingered hand grabbed his hair and jerked his head back painfully.
"You think you're so damned smart, don't you?" the big man sneered at his helpless captive. "You and your theories and your ideas, trying to play with the big boys. Well, this is what happens when you go poking into things best left alone." Another kick to his exposed ribs brought a breathless gasp of pain from the anthropologist.
"Still, since you're paying the price, I guess it's only fair you get what you wanted," the detective continued. "I'm in it for the money; nothing more, nothing less. Just good old American greenbacks. Didn't even have to do much, just report back to Webber what the findings were on the case. Then you had to show up and get Ellison all riled up, just what the hell did you have to do to get him so protective of you? You his new bed buddy or something? Heh, maybe that's it. You screwing Ellison, huh?" For a change of pace McConnel stomped down on Sandburg's ankle, the same leg as the injured knee.
Blair fought to control his breathing, his right leg a mass of fiery agony from hip to foot. He was incapable of responding to McConnel's allegations, not that he thought it would do any good anyway. The detective did not strike the anthropologist as being reasonable or open to discussion.
"I can see how a faggot might be attracted to you," Jasper continued, tipping Blair's face up with an almost gentle touch to his chin. "Yeah, you're prettier than some women I know. Still, having him whine to Banks, then having Banks whine to my captain – that was more than inconvenient. And with the forced days off I couldn't keep track of who was covering whom, what sorts of procedures were being followed. And so Bateman got caught. Messy. So now we have to get him back, and that's where you come in, Mr. Sandburg," he sneered derisively, running the top of his boot along Sandburg's left leg, enjoying the grad student's attempts to move away.
"What're you doing to him?" a new voice demanded. Blair straightened suddenly, instinctively turning toward the sound even though he was blindfolded.
"Just letting him know who's in charge," McConnel replied sulkily.
"And that would be me, right?" Blair noted a hint of a southern accent in the soft voice; an accent that almost, but not quite, hid the steel underneath.
"For now," Jasper agreed, reluctantly. "But Jewboy and I had some unfinished business."
"It's finished now, capisce?"
"Yeah, yeah, capisce, capisce."
"Good. In a few hours Sean's going to make the call; we can make the exchange at noon. After that you can have the hostage for whatever fun and games you want. But until then I need him coherent and conscious."
"Fine Osgood, I can wait a few more hours. Hear that Blair-boy? You'll have to wait a while, but we will be resuming our discussion. Something to look forward to, right?" With a final sharp slap to the young man's face the detective's heavy footfalls faded away along with the other man's, leaving the student alone for the moment.
Sandburg curled in on himself, lying on his right side, breathing harshly as his body was suffused with pain from a half dozen places. Trying to calm himself, he brought up a mental image of his Sentinel, unable to stem the thought that somehow his tribal guardian would rescue him.
Oh, please, God, let Jim rescue him.
TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS~
"Ellison." The ring of his cell phone was a welcome distraction to the Sentinel as he sat at his desk. He hadn't left since finding his Guide's vest the previous afternoon; his only rest had been a few quick catnaps at his desk between going over the case again and again in hopes of seeing something different.
"Jim?" the voice was shaky and weak, but obviously Sandburg.
"Blair? Where are you? Are you okay?"
"I have what you want. Care to make a trade?" asked a new voice on the phone.
"What did you have in mind?" Jim countered, signaling frantically at Simon who immediately called for a trace.
"Let's not play games, Detective. I have Blair Sandburg. You have Michael Bateman. Bring him to the old metal-works factory at noon if you ever want to see your observer alive again. Come one, come all, I really don't care. But the only ones I had better see in the open are you and Mike. Anyone else will be shot without hesitation. If you don't show, I'll figure you don't mind if a grad student dies a slow and extremely painful death. Your choice detective. See you then, or not." There was the distinctive click of a phone being hung up.
Frustrated, Ellison turned off his cell phone with unnecessary vigor, just barely refraining from throwing it across the bullpen. Simon had come to stand by his detective's desk and recognized Jim's effort at control.
"I can assume that was the kidnappers?" he asked in a carefully neutral tone.
"Oh, yeah. The usual: bring Bateman to the old metal plant, exchange for Sandburg, no one in sight, no show the kid will be killed slowly. The usual." Jim's expression told Simon more than he wanted to know about how much the young man already meant to his best detective. God help the kidnappers if they harmed Sandburg.
"Okay, we need to get people in position now, we don't have much time to work with. From what I remember of the place, it's pretty open, so we'll have to have your backup fairly distant. I'm going to have Rhonda assemble the task force again, meanwhile, I need you to write down exactly what they said, and anything else you might have noticed about the call.
Banks hurried off to organize the operation, leaving Jim staring at a blank sheet of paper and trying to organize his thoughts. It was a matter of only a few minutes to write a transcript of what was said, including noting no unusual background noises. With a feeling of pending doom he typed it up himself, knowing Simon would have Rhonda working on assembling officers for the proposed exchange.
Finished, he printed it out and took it over to the captain's assistant, waiting patiently until she finished a phone call.
"Ah, Detective Ellison, thank you. Captain Banks has called for a strategy meeting in twenty minutes, I'll make copies for that. Oh, I keep getting distracted. This came for you earlier today," Rhonda said, handing over a sheet of paper with the distinctive codes from their fax machine on the top of the page.
"Thanks," Jim replied distractedly as he glanced over the sheet. It was the list of customers the supplier of laundry detergent had promised; Ellison had forgotten about it completely in the wake of recent events. Now he scanned the list eagerly, looking for anything, anyone, who looked familiar. On the second pass through he got lucky.
He was still cross checking his information when Simon Banks approached his desk to remind him of the meeting that would be starting in five minutes. Ellison looked up with an expression of dawning hope and the spark that indicated the former covert ops ranger was ready for action.
"I think I have something here, Simon. We may have finally gotten a decent break."
"What have you got?" the captain queried as he sat on the corner of his detective's desk.
"Might be where they hold the bodies, and if that is the case, might be where they are holding Sandburg. Guess we should let everyone hear about this, right?" Ellison replied, gathering up his paperwork and standing.
"We're meeting in Conference Room Four," Simon agreed, ushering Jim out toward the hallway.
The conference room was full when they arrived, the quiet conversations coming to a halt at their appearance. Simon took his place at the head of the long table, immediately drawing everyone's attention to him. This case was so high profile now all divisions were familiar with the basics, and all were anxious to bring the killers to justice.
"Okay, listen up. Yesterday afternoon police observer, Blair Sandburg, who is working with Detective Ellison, was kidnapped. Approximately a half hour ago the kidnappers called to arrange an exchange of the prisoner taken at Georges Swensen's home for Sandburg. As you are all well aware, we do not negotiate such exchanges. This meeting is to set up a plan to capture the kidnappers when they attempt the 'exchange', preferably without harming Sandburg. But first, Detective Ellison has come up with some new information. Jim?" He turned to the detective standing to the right rear of his seat.
"Forensics identified a detergent used to launder each victim's clothing, and we requested a list of customers from the local supplier of the particular detergent. It's a commercial brand, not commonly sold in grocery stores. This morning I received the fax of that list, and recognized one of the customers listed." The Sentinel glanced at the papers in his hand, checking his information one last time.
"Knight's Services is a corporation owned by Blaine Knight, one of the suspects in this case. This particular business is housed in a renovated warehouse downtown. He rents out space to other businesses that need storage space, or a location to run a large piece of equipment. Consequently there are a number of freezer units, refrigerators, and industrial washers and dryers set up in this building, spread over three floors and a basement. Sounds to me like a good place to store a kidnap victim, a dead body, and to wash the victim's clothes. I think it's worth a look at least," he concluded.
"I agree. Ellison, you're in charge of that, with Bruinswick's assistance. Take half the officers and search the premises. I'll call Judge Abrams to arrange the search warrant right now. Brown, take the other half this team and set up a surveillance of the exchange point at the old metal plant. Ellison can brief you before he goes. Move it people, this is the best break we've had yet, and I want this case solved!" Banks stood and strode quickly to the door, intent on getting the needed search warrant, as the rest of the officers stood ready to be assigned to whatever tasks needed to be done.
Thirty minutes later Ellison, armed with a search warrant, and his team approached the warehouse driving unmarked cars. Per their plan, half the officers took up positions watching the exits while the rest entered the large building. Moving quickly and quietly they spread out to the three floors, with Jim taking the lead on the team going into the basement. They had seen the blueprints for the building, and knew the basement was deep, with thick walls and a supporting grid of beams and pillars. Searching it would be time consuming, but at least there was only one exit, which was easily guarded.
At some point in the buildings long history they had added walls between many of the pillars, creating small rooms within the large area, and many of those contained pieces of machinery and equipment, creating a plethora of hiding places. Before they had a chance to disburse, Ellison held up a hand to signal his team to stay still.
Under the guise of looking at a copy of the blueprints, Ellison tried what Sandburg had him do the night they discovered Pinero's body and stretched out his hearing to locate heartbeats. Ignoring the ones clumped behind him, he located four…no, five…heartbeats at the south end of the building. Bringing his hearing back down with an effort, he signaled his team to approach from different angles, indicating the area where he'd heard the heartbeats. Thankfully no one seemed inclined to question his directions.
They were almost to the entrance of the room where three of the heartbeats were centered when a large African American man strode out, only to duck back in at the sight of the officers.
"This is the Cascade Police. You're surrounded; come out with your hands up," Jim called out, accompanied by the sound of a dozen weapons being cocked.
A shot fired blindly was his answer, as the officers ducked into other rooms. Not really in the mood to waste time with negotiations, Ellison tersely ordered a young officer to shoot a gas bomb through the flimsy wall to drive the suspects out.
Two of the three men staggered out, dropping their weapons harmlessly to the floor, before lying face down. Three officers started forward to secure the prisoners before Ellison could shout a warning.
The third man was waiting for just this chance, and opened fire on the approaching officers, firing through the open door blindly. One officer retreated uninjured, while another took two rounds to the bullet-proof vest, knocking him out cold. The third officer was hit in the arm before finding cover. The two suspects who'd surrendered suddenly leapt up in a vain escape attempt, one ending up shot by Ellison, the other knocked unconscious when he ran by a concealed officer. The third man, Terrance Manfred based on the descriptions they'd been given, refused to be driven from the room.
"Come on in and try and get me, suckas!" the big man bawled out at the waiting policemen. "I got enough bullets for each and every one of ya!"
Frustrated, and with the uneasy feeling that they were missing something important, Ellison concentrated his hearing inside the room Manfred was holed up in, locating him in the near corner.
"Manfred, I have a gun trained on your back. If you don't come out in five seconds, I'll consider you as resisting arrest and will act accordingly and use any method needed to bring you in," Jim called out clearly.
"Do what you want, I don't believe your bluff," Manfred called back.
With a mental shrug he pulled the trigger, hearing the suspect's grunt of pain as the bullet found it's mark.
"Son of a fucking bitch! You bastard!" Terrance yelled out, pain obvious in his voice.
"You come out with your hands up and we'll get you some medical help. Stay there and I may have to shoot again," Ellison countered.
"I'm coming out." Moments later the large man walked out holding his hands away from his body, blood staining the lower right side of his camouflage shirt.
With the three suspects subdued and restrained, Ellison turned the situation over to Bruinswick and stepped away from the milling crowd. He was certain he'd heard five heartbeats to start with, so he carefully stretched out his hearing again until he located the other two in an area to the north of where he was.
Keeping his hearing trained on the stronger beat, the former covert ops ranger stealthily approached the room, pausing silently outside when he heard the click of a gun being cocked over the din of some sort of machinery working in the room. He had a strong feeling that he had to hurry if he wanted to find his Guide alive, so deciding to go with the odds, he threw himself into a roll on the floor, coming up firing at the figure in the middle of the room.
His bullet struck Detective Jasper McConnel high in the left shoulder, as the Homicide detectives return shot went high and wide. Shocked as he was by finding the Homicide detective involved in this mess, Jim quickly regrouped, taking cover behind a row of washing machines.
"Give it up, McConnel, you have nowhere to go," Ellison advised him, listening carefully for the other man's movements.
"Ellison, you have been a thorn in my side from the day I met you. Putting a bullet in you will be a pleasure," Jasper countered, pain obvious in his voice. "In any case, you're too late to help that hippie freak who was hanging around. That was fun, too; he's remarkably easy to terrorize."
Forcing himself to remain calm, Jim considered the situation. They were both stuck crouched at opposite ends of the row of machines, with no way to approach the other without rendering himself vulnerable. The Sentinel's gaze fell on the large circular mirror mounted in the far corner of the room, showing clearly McConnel's position at the end of the machines. Looking around for anything that could be used as a weapon, he noticed a discarded box of powdered detergent, a bottle of liquid detergent, and some plastic laundry bags along with other assorted laundry supplies. An idea quickly formed in the detective's mind, as he pulled the basket of supplies toward him.
Working quickly, and keeping a wary eye on McConnel in the mirror, Ellison filled one corner of a laundry bag with liquid detergent then carefully tied it off. He repeated the procedure once again, using powdered soap. Watching his adversary carefully, he quickly stood and threw the bag of liquid soap as hard as he could against the machine behind Jasper's hiding spot. It burst on contact, spraying the Homicide detective with the slippery green liquid.
"Christ, Ellison, what the hell do you think you're doing?" he complained as he tried to wipe off the offensive liquid.
As soon as McConnel was distracted by the soap, Ellison cut loose with his second 'bomb', sending the powder over the other man's position. As he had hoped, it got in McConnel's eyes, effectively blinding him. Unable to defend himself any longer, it was a matter of moments for Ellison to subdue and cuff the other man.
With his adversary down, the Sentinel finally had a chance to look around for his missing Guide. The large room was lined with industrial size washers and dryers, all front loading. One washer along the back wall was running, and Jim caught a flash of a pale hand through the glass door.
"Jesus! Hold on Blair, I'll get you out," Jim exclaimed, trying to wrench up the lever but finding he couldn't with the machine in operation. Thankfully the unit was plugged in an outlet above the washer, so it was just a matter of Ellison pulling the plug to stop the machine. With the power cut the door opened easily enough, disgorging warm water and one very wet grad student. Sandburg gasped and coughed harshly, spitting out water and struggling to get his breath back.
"I need a medic in here!" Ellison called out as he carefully unbound the younger man's hands and checked him over for injuries. "You with me here, Chief?"
The glassy blue eyes of the anthropologist struggled to focus on the Sentinel, as surprisingly strong hands gripped the older man's forearms. "Oh, God, Jim! He put me in that washer. He just shoved me in there and turned it on…I couldn't breathe, I couldn't get out. It kept spinning, and spinning, and I couldn't breathe. Oh, man, I'm never doing laundry again."
"It's okay, Chief. You're okay, settle down, okay? Come on, Kid, it's all over now," he tried to soothe the younger man, surprised by the wave of protectiveness that enveloped him, and the rage he felt at the injuries he found on the smaller body.
Blair made an obvious effort to calm himself, then looked up at his new friend with barely disguised awe. "Thanks for finding me in time, Jim."
"Not a problem, Junior. Thanks for not getting yourself dead. Here're the paramedics, they'll take good care of you, so behave yourself," the big man teased gently as he laid the younger man down on the floor. He stood nearby and watched as they tended his friend, until they loaded him on a stretcher for a trip to Cascade General.
Content his Guide was being cared for; Jim Ellison turned his attention back to cleaning up the case and putting the killers where they belonged.
EPILOG:
"God, Jim, what a week it's been!" Captain Simon Banks sighed as he sat back in his chair. "Between the FBI, Webber's lawyers, Silverstone's lawyers, and IA I'm surprised I haven't shot anyone yet."
"I know what you mean, Simon. I was talking to Stan Bruinswick earlier today and he said the Homicide division is still rocking from the news of McConnel's involvement with the murders. You heard the story about why, right?"
"Oh, yeah, being blackmailed by Silverstone, who found out about McConnel's affair with Captain Jones' wife. You have to admit, that sounds like something from one of those cheap paperbacks you can get at the airport or train station," Simon grinned.
"Yeah, well, truth is stranger than fiction and all that. And with Jones resigning, it does make one wonder just what was going on."
"They're talking about Flannigan for the vacant Captain's spot. He'd be a good choice to bring that division back to normal. Speaking of normal, which leads one to think of abnormal, how's your new observer? They released him from the hospital, right?"
"Yeah. Ordered him to a couple days of complete rest. I checked in on him yesterday, he's doing pretty good. It'll be a couple of weeks before his knee feels much better, but the ribs were just cracked, not broken. He looks like five miles of unpaved highway, but for the most part he should heal up quick," Ellison reported.
"Is he coming back?"
"I don't know, Simon. He got pretty banged up, it may have put him off on that particular dissertation subject," Jim said quietly. He didn't know what he would do if the younger man didn't come back, he still needed help with his senses. Uncomfortable with that train of thought he changed the subject abruptly. "What'd the FBI decide to do?"
"The 'A-Team' will be turned over to the FBI with the agreement that they will stand trial for the murders here when the others are on trial. I don't know all the specifics, but I understand all parties are satisfied. As for the rest, Councilman Daniel Webber was the catalyst behind everything-he wanted to recoup the money he spent taking care of his son before he was of retirement age. Nathan Silverstone joined him willingly enough, mostly for kicks, and for the money. He was the one who called in the killers and bankrolled it. Blaine Knight was blackmailed due to his gambling problems, he just provided the locations, he didn't have anything to do with the actual kidnappings or murders. None of the other shareholders or officers were involved." Simon rolled his unlit cigar between his fingers as he reflected on the case. "Webber was stupid enough to keep records of the whole mess, and Silverstone and Knight were more than happy to roll over on him after he implicated them. I can guess they will all be going down for a good long spell."
"And all this so the council vote on the toxic waste plant would be in their favor," Jim noted with obvious disgust.
"You know how it goes, Jim. Almost all crime narrows down to greed of some sort or another. By the way, you did some great work on this case. And I'm not the only one who noticed," Banks commented.
"Just doing my job, Simon. Just glad these assholes are off the street. Now to catch the other two thousand criminals out there," the Sentinel sighed, levering himself to his feet.
"Jim, it's Friday afternoon," his captain reminded him. "You won't catch them all before the weekend."
"Gee, thanks for the reminder, Sir. How about I just finish some reports, then call it a week?" the detective asked mock seriously.
"Get out of here, Jim. Have a good weekend; relax. You earned it," Simon dismissed him with a languid wave of his hand.
Chuckling to himself, Ellison headed toward his desk only to come to a halt when a now familiar figure came through the door, crutches obviously not slowing him down at all.
"Chief, I thought you were supposed to be home resting," he chided the younger man gently.
"Ah, man, I'm tired of resting. I thought I come by here, I got my schedule, see, and we could go over when I can work with you here. And maybe you need some help with reports or something? I mean, until classes start Monday I'm pretty free, we could even do some tests to start determining your baseline abilities. We need to document where you are now so we can start stretching the limits of your senses. Did all the suspects get cleaned up on the Strangler case? What'd the FBI decide?" Sandburg stopped abruptly as Jim held up a hand.
"Whoa Junior, slow down, breathe," Ellison advised, smiling at the younger man's abashed expression. "I'm glad to see you. I wasn't sure you'd want to come back after what happened."
"What? Oh, man, you're kidding, right? I mean, come on. How many times am I likely to be kidnapped? It was a fluke," Blair grinned at the detective, his eyes shining with renewed humor and enthusiasm.
"It's not like it's ever going to happen to me again."
The End.