Do you know what my enduring lesson is from this chapter? That stories with a split narrative over the International Date Line are HARD. I won't even make you suffer through the horrible matrix of plot versus time I had to use to track what happens when in Cascade versus Fokino, Russia. The MATH, you guys. Ugh.

Anyway.

Enjoy!


Jim woke to find Blair leaning over him holding a steaming mug.

"Just try it, Jim," Blair forestalled the obvious bleary-eyed growl. "It helps with the jet lag, trust me."

Jim could have reminded his partner that he was no stranger to international travel, even if he hadn't crossed the Date Line many times – most of his work had been within the Western Hemisphere or he'd gone east instead of west. He could have reminded Sandburg that only a few months before, Jim had flown to Borneo and started in on finding his missing Guide in the jungle almost at once, and any jet lag he'd had he'd ignored. He could have reminded Blair that he hated when he was given something to eat or drink without being told what was in it first.

But all of that would have taken effort. Jim downed the mug in just a few gulps.

"Actually, that wasn't too bad," he said, surprised. He blinked and found that his eyes didn't feel like they were trying to open against half-ton weights. "What was it?"

"Honestly? Mostly just chamomile tea mixed with one of your protein powders and some honey," Blair answered. "And I scraped a little melatonin in as well. There's lots of theories about jet lag, but the chamomile is calming as well as hydrating, the melatonin helps your body-clock reset, and the protein stimulates your body to start waking up and digesting. Simple."

Jim shrugged, but he was grateful for the clear-headedness that followed the odd remedy. The travel had been difficult. It had been 11 hours on the flight from Cascade to Tokyo, and another 3 on a connection to the nearest airport in Vladivostok. Then there had been 4 of the most tedious hours of Jim's life, including tax season and court arraignment appearances. It was only half that time to get to the city of Fokino, but they had been stopped three different times at checkpoints to show their papers and approvals and answer the same ten awkward questions all before a short ferry ride out to the island. If it hadn't been for the diplomatic pouch waiting for them in Vladivostok with all Benton's hastily-arranged clearance as well as a few prepared answers for the questions, it could have taken another several hours to get in and out of the perimeter around the closed city. By then, it was Thursday morning in Cascade but the middle of the night going into Friday in Russia, so they'd been hustled to a coldly official-looking building to sleep. Truthfully, by that time, Jim couldn't have told if he was going to bed in a prison or a palace – only that it had a bed.

"What time is it?" he asked, sitting up more fully and stretching. "And how is it you're so awake?" he looked at Blair. His usually-non-monring-person partner was up and dressed and apparently ready to go. Jim stood up to grab his pants and yank a shirt over his head.

"It's about 9am Friday morning local time, which makes it Thursday evening back in Cascade," Blair answered. "As for why I'm awake, it's because we've got visitors."

A moment later, the door to the sparse room opened revealing Benton and Race, the latter bearing a tray laden with food and, wonderfully, coffee.

"Glad you made it in okay," Race greeted them as he set the tray down on the one small table/desk in the room and passed a plate to Jim. "We left word at the city's gate that we were expecting you. You'll still have to check in with the officials again, and you'll probably get interviewed, but they're not going to question you too closely."

"Why not?" Blair asked, retrieving a plate for himself. He eagerly spread some extra jam over the Russian blini. Without even looking up, he said quietly, "They're kind of like pancakes with jam, Jim. Nothing weird."

Jim didn't acknowledge the hint, but he dug in grateful to know what he was eating.

"I'm ostensibly here on a request from the Russian government," Benton answered. "The clearances come down from so high there's nobody here with enough rank to even open the file that says what I'm researching. They'll take one look at the seal on your documents and realize they aren't cleared to read them. They might give you a hard time, but they can't ask you anything that might pose a breach of secrecy for their own government."

"How exactly did you manage that?" Jim wanted to know.

Benton shrugged.

"You don't want to know," Race answered, pouring a cup each of coffee for the Sentinel and Guide and handing them around. "Heck, even I don't want to know."

"So why don't we get down to business?" Benton said smoothly. Jim and Blair exchanged glances – sometimes they were really, really glad Doctor Quest, with all his favors and influence, was on their side. "Putyatin Island isn't where most of the people we want to meet are stationed. They're back in Fokino. But through my connections I was able to arrange to meet one or two when we first arrived."

"It didn't go well," Race put in.

"How so?" Blair wanted to know.

"The first was a man named Dominik. I was able to get him assigned to me as an official escort for the first few days. He knew all about my security clearance, so he was pretty receptive to answering my questions about Fokino. And I did eventually get him to admit to being a Sentinel himself. But as soon as I asked him about control over his senses or alternatives to the Russian program, he shut down."

"Got himself reassigned," Race added. "The next escort wasn't a Sentinel."

"But one of the guards on the island is," Benton said. "A woman named Katia. I was able to talk to her a bit more than Dominik, and she eventually pointed me to Ivan. She said nobody, not one Sentinel, would talk to us again unless Ivan gave the all clear."

"Who's Ivan?" Jim asked.

Race and Benton exchanged a small smile. "We're not even going to try to explain Ivan to you. It'll go better if you react naturally the first time you meet, anyway," Race said. "But Ivan agreed to talk to us eventually. We put everything on the table about SELF and about Guides and what we're trying to do. Ivan was…not impressed. That's when we called you in."

"Ivan agreed to talk to a Sentinel to prove what we were saying is true," Benton let out a breath. "When we said Blair was coming too, that started something of a buzz. It sounds to me like the Sentinels really do need our help and, frankly, would like to know more about who they really are. But we've got to get past Ivan first."

"When do we meet him?" Jim asked,

"As soon as you're ready," Benton answered.

Jim shoved the last of his breakfast into his mouth, noting that it was very tasty even without Sentinel senses, and put his plate on Race's tray. He was reaching for his shoes before Blair got the hint and began gulping down the end of his coffee. "I'm ready now."

"Good," Benton smiled.

"Anything we should know about this Ivan person going in?" Blair asked, bouncing to his feet as if the rush of caffeine had just launched him from his seat.

"Just be yourselves," Race advised. "We're not out to impress anybody here. If they don't like you, it won't matter what we say. And if we want them to join us, they have to know us like we really are."

After an hour spent closed in a small office with an official member of the Russian military who, as Benton had said, mostly irritated Jim with meaningless questions before letting the pair leave, it was a short walk from the tiny government-run hotel to what looked like a local café. Jim's senses were all on alert, and he knew with absolute certainty that he was in the territory of another Sentinel. Of a lot of Sentinels, actually. He couldn't see or smell or hear them, not exactly, but still he knew in a way so primal he couldn't even identify it that he was an interloper here.

"I hope this is a good idea," he muttered.

"We were invited," Blair said softly. "You'll do your posturing thing and it'll all be fine."

"And if it's not?" Jim asked.

"Here." Race pressed something into his hand. Jim looked to find a pair of extremely elaborate ear-plugs. He knew from their basic make that they were white-noise earplugs like those Blair had gotten him years ago, but these were probably Quest technology. Race passed another set to Blair. "If it gets hairy, put them in. We're ready for an unfriendly outcome, and even a non-Sentinel will need them if we have to get creative clearing out of here."

Jim and Blair smiled and nodded. Yeah, if things went south with a foreign tribe of Sentinels, an unexpected and piercing loud noise would certainly ensure them at least the start of a getaway.

Benton led the way into the café and went straight to the counter. "We're here to see Ivan," he said in English. The man facing him nodded once and jerked a thumb over his shoulder at a back door. "Thank you," Benton answered politely.

The feeling of tension grew in Jim's chest as he followed the scientist, Blair right on his heels and Race taking up rearguard. Jim wasn't quite sure if he wanted to walk in with a gun out and readied or if he wanted to grab his Guide and run for it. Maybe both. The fact that he could tell the room had more than one one white noise generator in it did nothing to ease his worry and a great deal to increase it.

As soon as the four Americans had entered the room, Jim and Blair stopped in surprise, barely cognizant of Race shutting the door behind them.

"Ivan, this is Jim and Blair, the Sentinel and Guide I told you about," Benton said. He smiled at his friends. "Gentlemen, please meet Ivanna Afinogenova, known to the local Sentinels as 'Ivan the Terrible.'"

Jim blinked at the woman before him. Though her clothing was simple and unadorned and her grey hair was wispy with ancient curl, she held herself with no less dignity than an empress. Her face was lined with age and he could discern from the threshold the slight swelling of her joints under her skin even against her heavyset, round figure that spoke of a lifetime of brutal work. But she rose from her straight-backed chair with the grace of a woman of twenty.

"So you are the Sentinel," she said to him coolly in English with only the barest trace of an accent. "Your Doctor Quest says you are different from those I have known my whole life. I do not yet see why."

Then her eyes fell on Blair. For a moment, the tension of the room seemed to hum.

And then Blair straightened his shoulders and walked towards her, staring directly into her eyes as if there was no one else in the world.

"I understand," he said. "I see you somehow."

There were two other men in the room, and both moved to intercept Blair, but a tiny gesture from the woman stilled them. She allowed Blair to finish his approach. He held out both his hands, palms up.

"I'm like you," Blair said softly.

"I know," she said. "I see the light in you." She put her hands in Blair's. "It is good to meet you, young wolf."

Blair grinned brilliantly. "It is an honor, Mother Crane."

Her dark eyes widened and then crinkled with joy. "You may call me Ivan if you wish. Many do." Without releasing Blair, she turned to Benton. "You have told me the truth, Doctor Quest. I apologize for doubting you. But these men and women have been mine for many years. Their safety is my only concern."

"I thought Sentinels protect the tribe?" Race asked.

"And Guides protect the Sentinels," Blair said firmly.

"Sit, please," Ivan invited, releasing one of Blair's hands. "There is much to discuss." She returned to her chair and Blair gently helped her into it before settling into the vacant seat at her side where she could maintain the contact.

"Chief, can you tell me what's really going on?" Jim asked as he moved to a chair next to his partner. He couldn't help but put a hand on Blair's shoulder protectively.

"Jim, she's a Guide, like me," Blair said. Jim rolled his eyes – yeah, he'd got that already. "As soon as I walked in the room, I could tell. And I could even see her spirit animal! It's some kind of crane. I guess that's how she could see my wolf."

"It is a Sandhill Crane," Ivan clarified. "It is important always to be precise with the dreamwalkers."

"Dreamwalkers?" Benton asked.

"What you call 'spirit animals,' we call dreamwalkers," she explained. "All Sentinels dream of a creature with the power to enter their dreams and the dreams of other Sentinels. These creatures may warn of danger or may aid a Sentinel in distress. A few Sentinels who are lost to the void speak of seeing their dreamwalker many times before they are consumed within their senses."

"And you can always see them?" Blair asked. "I could see yours, and I've seen Jim's, but I've never seen the spirit animal or dreamwalker of any other Sentinel or Guide."

"You are still young and naive," Ivan said. "When you have witnessed Sentinels destroy one another because of a dreamwalker, you too will learn to see them always."

"Destroy one another?" Benton was alarmed.

Ivan looked at him serenely. "All in time, Doctor Quest. There are many secrets of my people I have guarded alone. I will not share them all for nothing in return." She looked to the two men who had not moved from where they flanked the room. They were conspicuously tense and aggression still radiated from them. Ivan sighed delicately. "Dominik, Dmitri, what is your will?"

The two men eyed Blair for a moment then turned to Jim. Then one stepped forward. "I am Dmitri. I am the senior Sentinel in Fokino." His eyes narrowed. "We will fight, you and I."

"Fight?" Blair asked. "No, you should just need to, you know, one of you accept the other as leader and that would be that. Right?" He looked back to Ivan.

"Dmitri has not been in his place for long," she said. "After the death of my husband Ilja, Dmitri has taken care of us. Dominik is younger and not as strong, but has been in Fokino much longer. How they decide to accept your Sentinel is up to them." She smiled a little tightly. "Be grateful they choose not something more unpleasant."

"Tomorrow afternoon," Dominik said. "I will arrange for the others to come. You will meet us here at 4:00." Then, at the slight storm on Jim's face, he said, "Be not concerned. It is a fight, not to kill but to understand. Unless you are foolish enough that you do not surrender when you are beaten. We do not wish to harm you."

"And Blair?" Jim asked tightly. He was fine with taking on whoever they wanted to throw at him if that's how they wanted it. And he wasn't too worried about Benton and Race – those two could handle themselves. But his Guide…

"This man is under my protection," Ivan announced with a ringing authority. She lifted Blair's hand still clasped in her own. "You will tell all to treat him as you would treat me, no matter the outcome. And," she pinned her two Sentinels with a firm gaze, "if his Sentinel wins, he will take my place among you."

"Wait, I'll do what?" Blair spluttered.

But Ivanna was not listening. She rose, releasing his hand at last, and moving regally towards the door. Dmitri and Dominik fell in behind her. She turned with a graceful dip of her head.

"Enjoy Putyatin Island, gentlemen. I will see you all tomorrow and then we shall talk some more."

-==OOO==-

The four spent the rest of the day getting familiar with the island. Benton and Blair took every moment they could to pull out one of Benton's little white noise machines to talk eagerly about the short interview with Ivan, but without more information they didn't get far. Jim was more focused on keeping watch. He knew without opening his senses even one click above normal that he was always under the observation of at least one of the local Sentinels.

"So, what'd you think of Ivan the Terrible?" Race asked him while Benton and Blair conferred quietly.

"Why do they call her that?" Jim wanted to know.

Race shrugged. "The story we got was that Ivanna has been working with Sentinels for a long time. Her husband was one, and now that we know she's a Guide, I guess it makes sense. She takes care of them, helps them maintain their environments and their senses. She was a cook in the forces and tended to follow whatever assignment her husband had."

"Sure, but 'the Terrible?'"

"From what Benton found out, I guess she has a way of making her displeasure known," Race said. "The way I hear it, the higher-ups got tired of fighting her on whether or not she and her husband would be posted with large numbers of Sentinels in distress. She made their lives miserable somehow, though nobody will say how, exactly. I'm not surprised. Seems like a tough lady to cross."

"It would have been a moniker of pride from her people," Blair piped up. "The real Ivan the Terrible was a brilliant leader who changed Russia profoundly, modernizing the country, expanding it, and initiating reforms that have their echoes in place even today. We translate his name as 'terrible' in English, but a better word for the Russian meaning might be 'formidable' or even 'magnificent and fear-inspiring to one's enemies.'"

"That makes a lot more sense," Jim agreed. "Formidable is right."

"Dmitri's no slouch either," Benton put in. "Are you going to be okay facing him?"

"Sure," Jim raised one shoulder in a half-shrug. "He wants a little fight to prove he's big man on campus."

"You might win," Race put in. "He's older than you, and his senses probably aren't as stable."

"Maybe," Jim allowed, "but honestly? I hope not."

"Why?" Blair asked.

Jim met his partner's confusion with a quiet, firm voice. "Because I don't know what exactly Madam Terrible meant when she said you'd take her place if I won, but if she thinks you're staying here to be nanny to a bunch of Russian military Sentinels, she's got a lot to learn about how real Sentinels protect their Guides."

As the afternoon and evening wore on, Jim grew more taciturn and even Blair and Benton felt their keen interest turn quiet against his tension. Jim didn't even go to sleep until he'd bullied his partner into dragging his own small cot into Jim's room for the night. The feeling of being surrounded by Sentinels was beginning to claw at him, and he reacted decisively. In Cascade, the presence of Alex Barnes had caused him to push Blair as far away as possible. Jim was determined not to make that mistake again. So he found himself almost prowling around his partner, even while he slept, and keeping him within inches all the following morning. If Blair was bothered, he didn't mention it.

But both Blair and Benton noted Jim's increased protectiveness, far more than usual, and wondered if it was the unknown situation or the proximity of so many Sentinels that engendered such feelings so strongly in the detective.

At last the appointed time came, and Jim was near to breaking with rising frustrated impatience. It was Dominik who met them at the café.

"We will walk to the place," he said without preamble. "Everyone else is already there."

Two miles later, they emerged from a rocky path to a smooth, broad beach. A circle had been marked out by tall stones and a few upright posts, and Dmitri waited in its center, shirtless and stretching. Ranged along the pale sands were what looked like several dozen men and women, none younger than thirty-five and not older than fifty-five, Ivan alone in front of them. Dominik moved to her side, the four Americans trailing behind.

"They're all Sentinels, Chief," Jim said lowly.

Blair's eyes were wide. "I know," he whispered. "I can kind of tell."

Ivan raised a hand for silence as the visitors approached. "This is Jim," she said calmly. "Dmitri has chosen to fight him for leadership of our people. Do you accept Dmitri's choice?"

There was a shout of affirmations from the assembled people.

"Jim," she turned to him, and he felt oddly like he ought to be bowing to all her ageless authority, "I know you did not come here to lead us. But we must see your strength so that we might trust your words and your gifts. Please compete well."

Jim found himself nodding. As he began to move towards the circle, Blair grabbed his arm.

"Be careful, okay?"

Jim smiled. "Don't worry, Chief. However this ends, I won't keep my Guide waiting."

He entered the ring.

-==OOO==-

Hadji turned his gaze from Jessie back to the building. The three-story glass and brick edifice stood like a glowing skeleton of its former self, most of the broad glass windows blown out by the explosion that had demanded the attention of the two Sentinels even from off-campus. But long before the blast, Ngama had been tense, unable to articulate any specific trouble but somehow aware that something was wrong. They had been out walking together to try to allay Ngama's fears when those fears had been confirmed instead. The four of them had rushed to the scene at once.

"I'm sorry, Jessie," Hadji said quietly. She met his look with pure anger.

"Don't you dare, Hadji Singh Quest! You can't go in there alone while I'm stuck on the phone with Captain Banks! Don't even think about it!" As if to emphasize her point, Bandit in her arm yipped urgently.

"Please wait here, both of you," he said politely apologetically. Then he began to run towards the building.

Before the fires had spread so quickly, the four of them had arrived in time for Ngama and Jonny to duck through the flames – both had known that there were students trapped inside. Jessie and Hadji had stayed behind to call the emergency services, but while Jessie remained on the phone with Captain Banks, Hadji had made his report to the 911 operator quickly. By now, it had been several minutes, and neither Ngama nor Jonny had emerged even though many students had already evacuated.

Hadji paused at the front door, assessing rapidly. He could see that there were at least a few sprinklers going off from the ceiling, giving him a clear path inward. But he knew how electrical fires tended to go – the simple materials of the building might be extinguished by water, but the computers and other technological equipment that was now burning would not be. It meant that even above the site of the original incendiary device, the worst of the fire would be where the greatest concentration of computers or servers would be, which was probably where the people were likely to have been as well.

Hadji waited just long enough to dunk his turban under one of the streams of warm, slightly strange water to give himself some protection. Then he threw himself forward into the conflagration.

"Ngama! Jonny!" he shouted.

Guided purely by instinct, Hadji turned to run up a flight of metal stairs made slippery by the water. He coughed and pulled a length of his turban down to cover his mouth. The stairs were stable, but the smoke was getting worse and he could hear the small popping of computer components exploding, compounding the problem.

"Hadji!" Ngama appeared at the top of the stairs on the second floor, one young woman in his arms and two more holding onto him and following blindly in the thick, choking smoke. "You must get out of here!"

"Where's Jonny?" Hadji returned, charging upwards.

Ngama paused for a moment. Hadji could see his struggle to listen, so he interceded automatically. "Focus your hearing, my friend. Dismiss any sounds but those of people and listen only for them."

Ngama coughed but nodded. Hadji bought time for him by offering a hand to one of the two women and helping her down the flight of steps. The other was stumbling, but she blindly reached to the girl in Ngama's arms and got her over her shoulder. Hadji steadied her down the stairs and the waiting young woman got an arm around them both as the three continued to make their exit.

"I have him!" Ngama confirmed after another moment. "Hurry!"

Hadji followed unquestioningly as Ngama turned to run up the next flight of stairs to the top floor. The metal was wet and blackened by soot and there was an awful smell in the air. He wondered how Ngama was ignoring such a pungent, sickening odor and realized he must have his sense of smell and taste all the way suppressed instinctively. Hadji stopped so suddenly he almost went backwards, seizing Ngama's shirt and dragging him to a halt.

"Go back!" he cried. "There are chemicals in the air. As a Sentinel, they're much more dangerous for you!"

Ngama shook his head but Hadji yanked on the shirt and all but threw his friend back down the stairs. "I will find Jonny! You must go or you will be poisoned!"

Then he charged up, heedless of the danger to himself. Jonny had been in these noxious fumes far longer.

Hadji knew better than to try shouting for his brother – it would only invite more smoke into his lungs. Let the wisdom of the Guide be with me, he spared a moment to pray. At a landing with three different hallways all heading in different directions, he turned left and started to run. The carpet was soaked and stained under his feet, but the fires continued unabated, slowly spreading as that which could not be extinguished by water melted.

At a small door only partly ajar Hadji froze, then kicked it all the way open. Two bodies lay on the floor.

"Jonny!" Hadji threw himself to his knees, touching his brother's throat. He could have collapsed with relief at the pulse and evidence of breathing, labored though it was. Hadji stretched to the other figure, realizing that this man was alive as well. But his relief turned to a new kind of fear; Hadji knew he could never carry them both to safety.

Before he was forced to make an abhorrent decision, he heard shouting.

"Here! Up here!" he yelled as loudly as he could. In moments a pair of firefighters appeared. They wasted no time, one picking up Jonny and the other the remaining victim. The one with Jonny pulled a spare mask from his belt and shoved it into Hadji's hands before gripping his shoulder and steering him towards the stairs. Hadji did not resist, but he did take his own wetted turban and fling it over his brother's head to offer him what little protection he could.

The nightmarish trip down the flights of stairs seemed to take an eternity, but at last Hadji broke into the cool air, where his lungs became immediately determined to empty themselves. He did not resist as the pair of firefighters escorted him over to the waiting ambulances. Already Ngama sat on the cot in one, breathing oxygen through a mask and looking sooty and singed. Jessie stood outside it, her face torn with worry. Bandit was fighting to try to get to his person, prevented only by Jessie's full effort.

Hadji wanted to reassure her, but his voice came out a coughing croak and the paramedics instantly ordered him to silence while they started him on oxygen as well and began checking him for injuries alongside Ngama. But Hadji extricated a hand enough to grip Jessie's wrist and push her towards where Jonny was being loaded straight into an ambulance. She heard his unvoiced plea to go with Jonny to the hospital, to watch over him, to ensure the doctors were mindful of his sensitivities. She squeezed his hand once before darting off and clambering into the ambulance, ignoring or dismissing any possible arguments. Bandit almost went with her but for a quick lunge by Ngama who pinned the pup between himself and Hadji.

It looked like one of the paramedics was about to throw Jessie out of the ambulance by force when the sudden figure of Simon Banks appeared, striding quickly through the chaos.

"She's his family," he said to the paramedic, "and she'll be able to help with his medical history."

Either Simon's imposing form or his voice or simply his reputation convinced the crew and they crowded Jessie into a corner while they began working on Jonny, pulling the doors shut and driving off at speed. Simon watched them go before he turned to the ambulance that held the remaining Sentinel and Guide. With one swift glance he took in the burned appearance of the pair, their clear struggle to breathe, and the streaks of soot in Hadji's surprisingly long hair. He was caught between deep concern and fury.

What he settled for was, "You've only been alone in Cascade for two days! What am I supposed to tell Jim and Benton now?"