Chapter twelve

The sun was beginning to set when the horse convoy finally approached the second mine. Bristows was riding with stiff shoulders showing her displeasure at the situation. Ellison had been constantly urging her to ride faster and she'd had to pull out the big guns and threaten to call the whole search off if he didn't calm down. Banks had played peacemaker and had managed to soothe rustled feathers and keep Ellison from going off the deep end – and the path. So, it was with enormous relief when her horse rounded a large rock and the gaping entrance of the mine came into view.

The path had wound round the side of the mountain and had sometimes narrowed to a heart-stopping width. The view of the valley with its rocky escarpments and pine forests was magnificent, but no one paid it any attention. Tired and anxious their thoughts were on what they were going to find inside. Jim sent out his senses, but could neither hear nor see anything or anyone in the immediate area. The panther appeared in front of the entrance, roared massively and then bounded into the dark.

The path widened out onto a plateau enclosed by rocks and stubby trees. They could go no further. Suddenly, Bristows was overtaken as Ellison urged his horse forward at a canter. He was out of the saddle and running for the entrance even before the horse had come to a stop.

"Ellison!" Simon bellowed. "Wait! There could be…"

"I can only hear one person," Jim shouted back before disappearing into the mine his voice echoing across the valley.

'Hear only one person?' Bristows tried to make sense of Ellison's answer. 'What the hell does that mean?' She turned round in her saddle. "Banks…?"

"Later. I'll explain later. Connor, grab the first aid kit and follow him. And be careful!" Simon knew that the long hours in the saddle had played havoc with his muscles. Getting down would be a study in pain and the younger woman would be much quicker than he. Carefully, he eased himself out off the horse and gratefully felt solid ground under his feet. He looked up when someone grabbed the reins and he gazed directly into Pascal's sympathetic eyes.

"It's okay, Captain. We'll look after the horses."

"Thanks. Stay here until we say otherwise." Hitching a saddlebag holding water and food over one shoulder he switched on a torch and hobbled into the mine. Although he was in pain he wouldn't allow it to slow him down. Stopping a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dark he shone his torch over the rocky walls. The entrance narrowed almost immediately into a tunnel that led away in front of him. He was just about to call out to Jim and Megan when he heard a gun shot. He let the bag slide to the floor and pulled out his gun. Listening carefully he could faintly hear two voices. Following the tunnel to the left he drew his gun up as the torch caught a figure running towards him.

"Halt! Police!"

"Don't shoot, Captain!" The person skidded to a stop. "It's me, Megan!"

"Connor, I heard a gun shot."

"Quick, we need water." She tried to dodge past the tall man but he clutched her arm.

"In the bag. I'll get it. Who shot at whom?"

"We found Sandy. Well, Jimbo did. In a locked room. We had to shoot the padlock off." She looked up at him, suddenly still. "He's bad. I'm going to get Bristows to call for a medevac."

"Okay, go. Wait!"

Connor turned as she darted past. "What?" Impatience was written on her face.

"Where are they?"

"Not far." Her words echoed as she disappeared round the corner. "Just keep going. You'll find them easily enough."

Going back and picking up the bag he continued down the corridor as fast as he could and eventually came to an opening flanked by a large, rusty metal door leading to a small room lit by torchlight. Jim was leaning over a figure sprawled on the floor. He suddenly wished he could dial down his smell like the Sentinel as the rank odour of sweat, urine, blood and sickness reached his nose. Joining him on the floor he propped up his torch against the wall so that it gave a bit more illumination.

He looked more closely at Blair and winced. The man looked dead and it was only the slow, hitching breaths that indicated he was still alive. Under the blood from a nasty cut over his left eyebrow, the dirt and the dark bruises that peppered his face, the skin was starkly white except for two patches of red on his cheeks. Even from a metre away he could feel the heat pouring off the body. The man looked gaunt and somehow diminished and obviously completely unconscious. But what made his heart ache was the evidence of tear tracks that had left clean trails through the dirt and grime. Jim was gently easing off Blair's shirt, handling him as if he was made of fragile porcelain all the while whispering a litany of comforting words and sounds.

"What do you want me to do?"

The Sentinel didn't stop what he was doing, but brushed an unruly curl off a bloody forehead. "We need to cool him down. His temp's over 104°. Get his shoes and pants off. We also need to get him out of this place. Away from this stink."

"Okay. How bad is he?" Simon didn't take umbrage at how Jim was giving him, the Captain, orders. It was obvious the man was holding onto his calm through sheer determination. At first he thought he wasn't going to answer and was about to repeat his question when Jim spoke again.

"No broken bones as far as I can tell. He's got that nasty cut and a few bruises here and there. It's his lungs. They're heavily congested and his breathing's compromised. His fever's too high. I… I could hear him convulsing through the door." He'd finally managed to get the damp t-shirt off and he threw it into a corner. Tearing a sleeve off Blair's shirt he poured water from his canteen over it. Gently he started wiping the dirt off his battered murmuring soft encouragements. The sick man didn't move or react at all to his ministrations.

Simon was having a rough time trying to undo the tangled laces on Blair's dirty boots. In frustration he pulled out a penknife from his jeans pocket and slashed them. He mumbled an apology as he undid the button and zip on the filthy jeans and started easing them off the slim hips. His breath caught as he pulled the jeans down Blair's thighs.

"Oh, god," his voice broke through Jim's concentration.

Jim froze as he saw what had upset the other man. Blair's left thigh was marred by a mess of raised, angry looking scars loosely spelling the word 'liar'. He said nothing, but Simon read the smouldering anger and the promise that he'd get those responsible written clearly on his face. Just then Megan burst back into the room closely followed by Bristows. The Ranger wrinkled her nose at the smell and stayed by the door. The room was small and with four people in it already she would only be in the way.

"Jim," Megan sounded harried, "the helicopter can't make it now." She dropped to her knees next to him and blanched when she saw what they were looking at. "Oh, Sandy." Her fingers hovered over the scars as if she could brush them away.

"What d'you mean?" Jim glared at her.

"It'll be too dark." Bristows voice came from behind and Jim swung round to face her.

"What?"

"By the time they get here it'll be after sunset. They won't be able to land."

"They don't have to. They can send down a basket." Both he and Simon thoughts flashed back to the mess with Quinn and Sandburg's reaction to being airlifted out. Somehow, Simon thought, they wouldn't get the same reaction this time.

"They can't fly here after dark. There are too many peaks and the air currents in the gorges make it too dangerous."

Simon grabbed his arm as Jim started to surge up in anger. "Stop it. Just calm down a moment." The man subsided. "What do you suggest?" he asked the woman.

"We keep him alive until they can get here."

"You…"

"Jim, she's right. A little brusque perhaps, but right." He relaxed a bit when Ellison subsided and turned back to Blair.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to sound unfeeling. I was just… anyway... I've brought more medical stuff, antibiotics and intravenous saline… And I've found the place where the kidnappers obviously were living. They're cots, a camping stove, sleeping bags…"

"Show me." Simon jumped up and almost bundled up the woman out the door.

Megan put her hand on Jim's arm. She waited until he'd turned and looked at her. She bit her lips as she saw the pain in his eyes. "We'll do whatever's necessary. He's strong…"

"Strong? Just look at him. He's barely hanging on."

"He's got something to live for again. He's got you back and us and if my womanly intuition hasn't failed me, I'm pretty certain he and that Felicia are more than 'good friends'." She raised her hands to make quote marks when she said the last two words.

Jim's lips twitched as he looked fondly back at the man who he'd considered, and still considered, his best friend. "Ah Chief, trust you. What is it with you and women? How many does that make now?"

"What's wrong with that?" Megan snapped, eyes flashing. "He's a good looking, red-blooded, single male. As long as he doesn't hurt them, why can't he have a string of girlfriends?"

"Wha.. whe…" Jim raised his hands. "Where the hell did that come from?"

"Why do you always have to put him down?"

"I wasn't. I was just… Look. I wasn't criticising him. It's a joke between us."

"Well, it didn't sound like one."

"I don't think it's your place to decide what we joke about," he snapped back.

Megan was about to reply when Simon came back into the room. "It's good…" he stopped as he noticed the angry looks on Megan and Jim's faces. "What's going on here?"

"Nothing."

"Just a misunderstanding. Right, Connor?"

Megan didn't say anything and then letting out a sigh, nodded.

"Okay. So, we can use the place Bristows found?" Jim's voice held none of the anger that had filled it only seconds before.

Banks glared at them both and wished he had a cigar to chomp on, but unfortunately he'd left them in the other saddlebag that as far as he knew was still on his horse. His gaze then fell to the suffering man on the floor and his face softened. "It's much better than here and there's a bit of equipment we can use. Can we move him?"

"Nothing's broken, so I think he'll be okay. Let's do it now so we can get him settled and treated as soon as possible." He shifted so that he was crouching above Blair's head. "You take his legs."

Together, and with infinite care they lifted the younger man up. Jim could feel the fever burning into his hands and the sweat was making his grip slip. Fortunately, the other room wasn't far and they made it without dropping their precious cargo. Bristows had been joined by Pascal and the two of them had been busy. They'd turned on a large battery run lamp and had prepared a cot with a sleeping bag using another rolled up as a pillow. Antiseptic wipes, gauze, IVs and other medical supplies were placed on opened saddlebags that had been laid on the floor. Gently placing Blair on the cot, Jim adjusted the folded sleeping bag so that his upper body was slightly raised in an effort to ease his breathing.

Standing up he looked over at the two Rangers. "Thank you. You've done great."

"About earlier…" Bristows started.

"It's nothing."

"No, listen. What I wanted to say is that before coming a Ranger I was an EMT. I can help."

"Thank you. Thank you, very much." He turned back to Blair. "As far as I can tell he has no broken bones. However, I'm very concerned about his lungs and fever. Last year he drowned and since then he's been prone to infections. We need to get fluids and antibiotics into him."

"And get his temperature down, I imagine. I've got saline and intravenous antibiotics here. Rob," she turned to her colleague, "go and cut a straight branch about a metre and a half long. Make sure it finishes in a vee."

"Clever." Ellison looked up from where he was examining the medical supplies with an appreciative grin.

"What's that for?" questioned Megan.

"We're going to tie it to the cot so we can hang the drips from it," Bristows replied.

"Oh." She turned to the male Ranger. "Would you like me to help? I can hold the torch or something."

Pascal smiled at the pretty Australian. "That'd be great."

"Okay, what do you want me to do?" Banks asked as they walked out.

For the next hour the five people worked calmly to try and reduce Sandburg's raging fever. Jim and Bristows had fixed Blair up with saline and antibiotic drips. They'd disinfected and taped up the cut on his forehead and with Megan they were now wiping his body with water-soaked cloths. They'd dressed him in clean boxers and had cleaned him up as best they could. Their attempts at getting him to ingest some water had failed, so were relying totally on the drip to rehydrate him. They took heart that at least he'd not convulsed again, but unfortunately, he still remained unresponsive. As far as Jim could tell his temperature hadn't increased, but it wasn't falling either.

Banks and Pascal were boiling water for coffee and arranging trail mix and power bars out as an evening meal. Apart from softly spoken words here and there, no one spoke and Blair's raspy breathing filled the space. So, when Bristows' radio squawked everyone jumped.

*…istows… come in… tton, here…*

"Bristows. Say again."

*Age… tton. …oo hear..*

"Hold on a moment. I'm moving to get a better signal."

*…don?"*

"Hold on." Her voice faded as she walked towards the entrance of the mine.

"Jim."

Ellison looked up as a tin mug appeared in front of his face held in a brown hand. He grasped it in two hands as he sniffed the coffee fumes with a look of bliss on his face. "Simon, you've just saved my life."

"How is he?"

"No better. No worse."

"Connor, go and get something to eat. I'll take over."

Megan stood up and stretched her back listening to the vertebra crack. She trailed the back of her hand across Blair's bruised cheek. "I'm just going to get something to eat," she whispered. "I'll be back soon. Don't go away."

Jim stood up from where he'd been sitting on the cold floor taking his coffee with him. He wandered over to where the food had been laid out and then wandered away again. Although he was hungry he knew he couldn't eat. There was a cold ball of ice sitting in his stomach that the coffee was doing nothing to melt. His eyes were drawn again and again to the man on the cot fighting for his life. He gripped his coffee mug tightly. He wanted to rail against the injustice of it all; wanted to throw his mug against the wall and get his hands on the bastards who had done this. Instead, he gritted his teeth and silently prayed.

Simon sat on the floor and picked up the cloth the Australian Inspector had been using and wetting it from a water bottle he wiped it over Blair's chest and then down his arms. Even through the damp cloth he could feel the heat of his fever. He took the chance to really study the man and tried to reconcile the figure before him with the lively, noisy, kind-hearted grad student that had taken the PD by storm all those years ago. God, he'd seemed so young and innocent. Little by little though, the light had dimmed in his eyes as he'd endured psychos, being shot, poisoned, beaten up, been killed and then the ultimate insult, betrayed by his best friend and his boss. Because although he wanted to believe otherwise, he HAD betrayed the man.

His musings were interrupted as Bristows walked back into the room. "The helicopter will be here first thing in the morning. They'll take off at dawn, so should be here around 6:30. Thank you." She took the cup of coffee that Pascal handed her. "I also spoke to a doctor who said to carry on with what we're doing, but he'll be available all night if anything changes. And finally, Patton told me to tell you that, and I quote, 'Berger's dead and Escobar's on the run.' Hope that means something to you."

Jim and Simon looked at each other satisfaction on their faces warring with anger.

"He can run, but he can't hide," growled Jim.

"You came back."

Megan looked at the three men wondering who had spoken.

"Did you catch any fish?"

"Sandy!" Megan's shout cut through the silence.

Jim jerked round dropping the tin cup with a clang. Within seconds he was kneeling next to his friend. "Hey, Chief," he almost crooned, "how you doing?"

Blair turned his head and looked at Jim out of half-lidded eyes. The older man was concerned to see the usually brilliant blue faded and lacklustre. "Jim?" Suddenly, his breath caught and his body curled forward in a paroxysm of coughing. It was so violent he almost came off the cot and it was only Jim's quick reflexes that caught him. Everyone could hear the man struggling for breath as he clutched at Jim's shirt.