continued from Part 2He was cold. The room in which he was being held was chilly and his naked skin was covered in goose bumps. His knee ached badly from the chill, seeping blood between the stitches. His eyes were stinging from fatigue and the dry air, burned by the lights that were never turned off. He thought it had been at least twenty-four hours since he'd awakened in the cell, but he couldn't be sure.
He was so tired. They hadn't let him sleep for more than ten minutes at a stretch. Whenever he did nod off, they replayed the recording of Blair screaming. Jim couldn't dial his hearing down to keep from hearing it, couldn't divorce himself from worrying about what they'd done to make Blair yell like that. He was given nothing to eat or drink and though Jim had been without food and water for longer periods, he was growing weak anyway.
He thought he could see Blair standing in front of him, but when he raised his hand and called his name, the vision disappeared and knew it had been a hallucination.
No... He refused to believe he had started hallucinating. It had been his imagination. A dream. He wanted to dream of holding Blair in his arms... but instead his vision included Blair screaming, his blue eyes red from pain and desperation... no dream -- a nightmare.
Sometimes, Blair called to him, begging for Jim's help. He tried to hang on to the knowledge that he was only imagining that, but it didn't make it any easier to deal with. He wished they'd soon get tired of trying to soften him up and just go ahead and let him know what they wanted him for, but he knew he had no control over things now. But when he got his chance....
The abnormally loud sound of a bolt being pulled back, metallic clanking, woke him and Jim lifted his aching head, squinting against the light. He wasn't sure he'd really heard what sounded like the heavy cell door being unlocked, but when it began to slowly swing open, he struggled to sit up, all his muscles tensing in readiness. If he had to fight, he would fight. If he saw a chance to run, he would run. If he saw Blair... he hoped if he saw Blair it would be real.
The door opened but what he saw was not his partner.
It was the tough looking guy that had been at the loft. Jim searched his memory, more to gain focus than anything else. What had they called him? Car... Carpelli. He wore a military haircut, not unlike the buzz cut Jim himself had favored for years. Behind him, another man, the blond one... was it O'Reilly? He pushed past Carpelli and into the cell. Both of them were holding guns.
O'Reilly tossed something toward Jim that landed by his side. Glancing down, he saw that it was a pile of clothing, drab cotton that was khaki colored.
"Put those on," O'Reilly ordered, his voice sounded like it was straight out of working class Ireland. Jim wondered if he had been recruited because of IRA experience. To Jim, with his hearing still jacked up from listening to the recording of Blair's screams, the words were louder than they should be. It was all he could do not to flinch when the man spoke to him. He took a moment, trying to collect himself.
When he didn't move fast enough, Carpelli kicked him. "He said get dressed!" That voice boomed even louder and Jim struggled to dial his hearing down.
Jim reached out to touch the clothing. His hands shook but he tried to hide the reaction as he struggled into the pants and shirt that were cut like a set of scrubs. He preferred that description to the other one that came to mind; the clothes were like prison garments, right down to the pair of flip flops.
"Hold out your hands," O'Reilly ordered when he was dressed. He was brandishing a pair of handcuffs.
Jim complied, not wanting to risk both of their guns at the moment. He was exhausted and had no idea where Blair was so it wouldn't be wise to try to take the offensive at this point.
"Come on." Carpelli jerked his head toward the open door when the cuffs were fastened.
He took a step forward and his vision swam for a moment. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then reopened them and strode forward, determined not to show weakness in front of his captors.
They led him down a long hall, then turned to the right and proceeded down another about half way before stopping at a door. O'Reilly opened it and Carpelli pushed at Jim's back.
He entered after O'Reilly, with Carpelli bringing up the rear. The room held a large table with chairs arranged around it, conference style. At the head of the table was the man who'd introduced himself at the loft as Alexander Yeager. Behind him there was a projection screen. Seated to his left was the fourth man. Jim tried, but couldn't recall his name at the moment.
"Good morning, Detective Ellison," Yeager said without warmth. "Please come in and have a seat."
When Jim hesitated, Carpelli shoved him again. He took a few steps and grasped the back of a chair with his cuffed hands, pulling it out so he could be seated. He glared across the table at Yeager.
"Where's my partner?" he demanded, his voice gruff from dryness and fatigue.
"All in good time," Yeager pronounced. "I have a few questions for you first."
"You think I'll answer questions after the way you've treated us?" Jim managed to sound scornful.
"You will if you want to see Mr. Sandburg again." Yeager seemed to suppress a smile, lifting one eyebrow as he gazed at Jim appraisingly.
"What are you doing to him?" Jim was out of the chair before he realized he'd moved. He wanted nothing so much as to get his hands around Yeager's neck.
Hands grabbed his shoulders and shoved him back into his seat. He resisted automatically, but was hit on the side of his head with a fist that felt like iron. His senses swam and he fought to stay conscious.
"Nick," Yeager said reproachfully, "that isn't necessary."
After a moment, Jim straightened in his seat and looked directly at Yeager. "What have you done to my partner?" he repeated, keeping his voice low and composed.
"Mr. Sandburg is resting comfortably. You'll see him shortly." Yeager gave one of his chilly smiles. "But as I said, first we have a few questions for you."
Jim returned his gaze, keeping his expression neutral.
"That's better," Yeager nodded. "You will find your stay here to be much more pleasant if you cooperate."
"Yeah, it's been great so far," Jim returned sarcastically.
"Detective, you will learn that I have only so much patience." Yeager's voice deepened, becoming more menacing.
"What do you want?" Jim responded grudgingly.
"I want to know all about your Sentinel abilities." Yeager smiled again, as coldly as before.
"Sentinel abilities?" Jim shook his head. "Don't you know not to believe everything you read in the papers? That was a fabrication."
"By your friend, Mr. Sandburg?"
"Yes, what he wrote was a work of fiction. You've gone to a lot of trouble for nothing, gentlemen."
"Come now, Detective," Yeager said, "you don't really expect that you can convince us that you have no special sensory abilities, do you? We're not quite as gullible as the general public."
"Blair wrote a book. It was accidentally sent to a member of the press -- "
"The late Mr. Graham," Yeager interrupted.
Jim cleared his throat. "Yes. He unfortunately leaked it and the dissertation committee thought it was Blair's finished thesis paper. It all got out of hand."
"I've read it," Yeager responded. "And it has the ring of truth, Detective."
Jim shifted in his seat. He chose to ignore the implications of Yeager saying he had read Blair's book, knowing it had to be the brief version that Graham had leaked to the press. "He's a very good author."
"Obviously. But we believe that you do have sentinel abilities and would like to have you do some specialty work for us, work that as a sentinel, only you can accomplish."
"This 'work' wouldn't happen to be illegal, would it?" Jim asked.
"I wouldn't say that precisely," Yeager hedged. "But we do need help which only someone with your particular skills can provide."
"I'm sorry, but I don't have the skills you think I do." Jim knew that maintaining he wasn't a sentinel would only carry them so far, but he couldn't bring himself to capitulate just yet. He coughed, his throat dry from lack of water. He didn't want to let his exhaustion and weakness show, but it was difficult to talk. "You know, you haven't exactly shown me a lot of hospitality so far."
Yeager raised an eyebrow. He glanced toward O'Reilly, who poured a glass of water from a pitcher that was on a side table, and placed it in front of Jim.
It was all he could do to simply pick it up and drink casually instead of grabbing it and draining it in a rush. The water tasted wonderful and went a long way to making Jim feel better. He knew he needed to marshall his mind and his senses to deal with this man. If he lost control, it would all be over very fast. He sat the glass down when he'd finished half of the water and gazed at Yeager.
"Although both you and Mr. Sandburg have been denying it, we are aware you have special senses, Detective," Yeager said, his eyes staring hard into Jim's. "Your denial is like some kind of game to you. You can do things no ordinary man can do, see things regular men can't see, hear things they can't hear. But you pretend and pretend, denying what you are." He paused, glancing down to smooth his silk necktie, then looked back up at Jim, pinning him like a specimen with his gaze.
Jim clenched his jaw. "You're wrong," he ground out, still unwilling to admit the truth. Yeager had no proof, he was only speculating on what Jim could do.
"It's time to stop pretending, Detective Ellison. To help you make up your mind, I've arranged for you to give us a small demonstration."
Yeager picked up a remote control on the table in front of him and the screen on the wall flickered to life.
It showed Blair, dressed in the same scrub type clothing as Jim. He was bent over, curled into a ball, his hair tangled and obscuring his face. Wherever he was, it looked dark and cramped.
Jim's whole body flushed, his reaction to seeing Blair again more visceral than he could have imagined.
As Jim watched, Blair raised his head. His eyes were wide and his pupils looked dilated. His face was covered with a sheen of sweat and damp tendrils of hair stuck to his forehead. He bit his lip, looking stressed, frightened.
Jim clenched his fists, concern and anger sweeping him. "Where is he?"
"He's outside in one of the other buildings," Yeager answered, seeming amused by Jim's obvious anger. "We'll be going out there to find him in just a moment."
He picked up a cell phone from the table and pressed a button. "Victor?" he said when someone responded.
Jim listened, keeping his expression neutral, though he could easily hear the other party speaking.
"He's all set, Mr. Yeager," came the voice. The man speaking sounded older and had a vaguely foreign accent Jim couldn't identify.
"Good. We're watching on the monitor. Close the container, will you?" Yeager directed.
"Very good, sir." the man named Victor said.
Yeager hung up from the call and turned to gaze at the monitor. At the same time, both Carpelli and O'Reilly moved to grip Jim's shoulders, assuring that he couldn't get up from his seat.
While they watched, the camera seemed to back up from its tight focus on Blair. As more of his location came into view, Jim could see that he was in some kind of big tube, bent over to accommodate its size. A round cover appeared, being moved into place.
"Hey, you guys," Blair began speaking, his hands reaching up as if to try to ward off the covering of his enclosure. "Don't... please... I'm claustrophobic."
His pleas were ignored. The cover was placed over the tube and bolts were turned, securing it. Jim couldn't tell what kind of a device or container it was, but he knew Blair was scared. Jim was worried -- seeing what they were doing was almost worse than only hearing Blair's screams the night before.
"What the fuck -- ?" he began.
"We should go now," Yeager said. "Mr. Sandburg won't have much time." He stood and O'Reilly and Carpelli pulled Jim from the chair, shoving him toward the door.
They held onto his arms as they walked down the hall to an outside door. Jim didn't struggle. If they were taking him to Blair, he wanted to go.
Yet he was concerned. What had they put him in? It was difficult to tell exactly what was happening on the screen -- and what had Yeager meant when he said Blair wouldn't have much time? Jim flexed his hands as he walked, trying to see how much strength he still had in them. Could he overpower these men? He wasn't sure, but he knew that if he had the slightest chance, he was going to try.
They emerged from the building and Jim's suspicion that they had traveled pretty far north was confirmed. It was cold outside and frost made the grass stiff and white. He shivered involuntarily; dressed only in the light scrubs, he got cold quickly. The others, clothed in heavier fabrics and wearing jackets, boots and, presumably, underwear, didn't seem as affected by the chilly air.
They walked for about twenty yards, through a stand of trees, and then came upon another building. It was built of steel and looked like it was a modular construction, one that could have been erected quickly. There were two men standing on either side of the door to the building, armed with automatic rifles. Jim realized that even if he could overpower the men holding him, he wouldn't be able to get past the armed guards to rescue Blair.
One of the guards opened the door, then stood aside. O'Reilly and Carpelli shoved Jim and the group entered.
Jim was surprised when they got inside -- the place held only rows and rows of steel containers. Hundreds of barrels, most of them black but some white or red, lined the walls and reached toward the ceiling thirty feet above them. It was freezing inside the building, probably because it was constructed of metal and there was no heat. Only a few bare bulbs illuminated the space. There were two more guards and another man, all wearing coats with fur lined hoods, standing around.
"Good morning, Doctor Yeager," the tall, older man greeted.
"Victor," Yeager smiled. "I trust everything is going according to plan."
"Indeed, sir. Everything is in its proper place."
"Excellent." Yeager's smile broadened.
Jim was looking around, already getting an idea of what Yeager was doing.
"You saw Mr. Sandburg on the screen," Yeager said, watching Jim closely. "He was being placed into one of these steel drums, Detective. The drum was sealed, as you observed. While we were walking to this building, Mr. Sandburg's drum was placed somewhere amongst the rest... we'd like you to find him for us." Yeager paused. "Oh, I nearly forgot to mention -- the drums are air tight. Mr. Sandburg probably only has a few minutes of oxygen left."
Jim regarded him coldly. "You bastard... " he muttered. "What -- you think I'll be able to find him before his air runs out? How am I supposed to do that?" He forced his voice to be steady. "They all look alike. How am I going to find Blair?" He was only partly acting. Exhausted as he was, he wasn't at all sure his senses would work well enough for him to find -- and save -- Blair.
"He's breathing inside one of the drums, Detective. His heart is beating. I should think locating him would be simple exercise... for you." Yeager's meaning was obvious.
Jim scowled. They were going to force him to find Blair by using his senses, thus acknowledging to them that he was, indeed, a sentinel. He couldn't refuse. Blair's life was at stake.
If he had conceded he was a sentinel from the first, Blair's life wouldn't be in danger now, but there was no time to regret that decision now.
Then, quiet words came to his ears, so soft he knew that he was the only one capable of hearing them.
"Jim... you must be in here by now... Jim, can you hear me?" Blair... whispering to him from the barrel. At first the words were hard to catch, somewhat garbled. Jim wasn't immediately sure from which direction they were coming. He closed his eyes, but his exhaustion and the sensory distress produced by the replaying of Blair's screams made control difficult.
"I'm sure you can hear me, man. Listen, don't let them know, okay? Don't react."Jim closed his eyes, drawn to that voice as he always had been.
"Jim, don't do what they want. I mean it. Don't find me. I don't want you to do it. I want them to let you go."How many times had he focused on that voice, followed it out of a zone, let it help him control and use his senses? How many times had he done exactly what Blair said?
"If you don't find me, they'll believe you're not a sentinel. So don't do it. If you find me, they'll win. I want you to get out of this. Do you hear me, Jim?""Detective," Yeager said. "We're waiting. Mr. Sandburg is waiting." He nodded to Carpelli, who produced keys to Jim's handcuffs and unlocked them.
Jim moved. He started walking toward the rows of barrels, listening intently. The words Blair was saying didn't matter, hearing them had given Jim focus, told him where to start searching when his abused senses had been all over the map. Blair was still whispering, entreating him not to find him -- but for once Jim had no intention of doing what his guide said. Blair was right; if Jim found him they'd know Jim was a sentinel. If Jim didn't find Blair in time, the person he loved most in the world would be dead.
Call him a coward, but he couldn't allow his guide -- his lover -- to die, just to keep from revealing he was a sentinel. He would never be able to live with the guilt. What would be the point, anyway? They obviously were convinced that Jim was a sentinel and had set up the situation to force him to acknowledge that he was. Certainly, if Blair were dead, he wouldn't care what happened to him. But whatever these men wanted him to do, Jim didn't want to face it without Blair.
"Don't find me, Jim... it's okay. I don't blame you. I want you to do this. I want you to let me go. They'll release you if they believe you're not a sentinel..."Was Blair insane? Let him die? Just to keep up the pretense of Jim being normal?
"I can't..." he muttered aloud, walking between rows of identical steel drums.
Following him, watching his every move, Yeager responded to Jim's words. "You can't what? Hear him? Try a bit harder, Detective."
The building was made of steel. So were the drums. Blair's words were echoing.
"I can't... there's too much echo in here," Jim grated, turning to glare at Yeager. He pointed at the men following them. "Get them out of here."
"I don't think..."
"You want to deal with me if Sandburg ends up dead?" Jim demanded.
"If Mr. Sandburg dies, the fault will be yours," Yeager said, his eyes glinting in challenge.
"I didn't put him in an air tight steel drum," Jim countered. "I didn't kidnap him. I didn't make him yell like you did..." He turned to take a step in Yeager's direction, his clenched hands coming up.
"Don't waste time," Yeager advised, showing no fear that Jim would try to attack him. "If you try to fight, you know what will happen to your friend."
"Do I?" Jim challenged. "Maybe these barrels aren't air tight after all."
"Oh, they are," the man called Victor chimed in. "They're used for toxic waste. I sealed the one Sandburg is in myself."
"Do you really want to take the chance we're lying?" Yeager added.
"He can't do it," Carpelli scoffed, rolling his eyes. "I told you guys, it's not possible."
"Shut up, Nick," O'Reilly said.
"All of you, shut the fuck up!" Jim shouted. "If you want me to do this, shut up and get out of here!"
Yeager regarded him with narrowed eyes, appraisingly. "Nick, Sean, Victor," he said, "do what he asks. Take the guards too."
"But -- " Carpelli protested.
"I can handle him," Yeager answered. "It's okay. Go."
The sounds of their footsteps covered Blair's whispers but Jim ignored them, satisfied they were leaving the building. He spared no thought to the idea that the odds were moving in his and Blair's favor -- the important thing now was to find him.
He listened harder, trying to detect the exact location. Up higher... yes... toward the right. He kept moving, knowing Yeager was right behind him. That didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was Blair. He focused, tuning out the echoes, Yeager's heartbeat and breath sounds.
He could hear Blair's heartbeat... faintly, beating fast. He was scared, running out of air, dying. He wasn't talking now... probably couldn't spare the oxygen.
Jim strained to hear, trying to find him. Up there... near the ceiling. He climbed up onto the barrels, and Blair's heartbeat got louder.
Yeager stayed on the ground level, and that helped. Jim paused, listening.
"I'm coming," he said it softly, knowing Blair wouldn't hear but needing to put voice to his conviction.
He climbed. Up three levels now, the drums creaking and shifting under he weight. He ignored the unstable nature of the stacked drums, completely focused on his goal. Closer... up there....
"Jim... no... don't... it's okay... I meant it..." Apparently hearing his approach, Blair spoke again, still trying to dissuade Jim from locating him. Jim loved him more than he had thought it was possible to love another human being.
He was near the top now. Four barrels were between him and the far right wall of the building. Jim concentrated and he knew. Blair was in the third one.
He was gasping for air, running out of time.
Jim moved swiftly, pulling himself up to the same level, stepping without caution over to the drum in which Blair was imprisoned. He grasped the cover, noting the shiny silver clamps that held it on.
"How the fuck do I get this open?" he demanded of Yeager.
"You don't need a tool," Yeager said. "Just twist the clamps off."
Jim was shaking, sweat dripping into his eyes, making it hard to focus his vision. His hands were trembling. He cursed under his breath and managed to get the first clamp off, throwing it aside. Quickly, he managed to yank off the other two, then began prying the lid off.
At last it yielded. He lifted it, shoving it aside. "Blair...?" he gasped anxiously, leaning in to look.
"Jim!" Blair dragged in a huge breath. His eyes were wide and reddened, his hair soaked with sweat. He reached up.
Jim reached down, his fingers sliding down to feel the pulse in Blair's wrist. It was fast but steady. "Oh, God..." Jim gasped, pulling him up.
Blair was in his arms then, trembling, holding him. His fist pounded against Jim's shoulder. "I t-told you... not to find me," he gasped, still sucking in air.
"So sue me," Jim muttered, wrapping him close. "You really think I'd let you die like that?"
"Didn't want... them to... know," Blair panted.
"It's okay," Jim reassured him. "You're okay... " He felt breathless himself. Blair could have died. He didn't think he could have survived that. They were still in trouble, but he was holding Blair. He didn't want to let go.
"Very touching." Yeager's voice broke in. "How did you manage to locate Mr. Sandburg, Detective? Was it by hearing his heartbeat? Hearing him breathe?"
Jim turned to glare at the man. "Okay, I'm a sentinel. You were right. Satisfied?"
Yeager raised an eyebrow. "Quite. You see, there was really no reason to keep denying what you are. Now climb down from there. We have a lot to talk about."
Blair met Jim's eyes. "Any chance we can make a break for it?" he whispered, his eyes already saying he knew the answer.
"They're armed," Jim whispered back. "They have at least four guards waiting outside this building and probably all over the place. And I have no idea where we are."
"Just thought I'd ask." Blair stood up, squaring his shoulders and brushing his hair back from his face.
Jim could no longer hold back the question he most wanted to ask. "What did they do to you? I heard... screaming."
Blair heaved a sigh and glanced away. Jim placed a hand gently on his shoulder. "Blair?"
Blair turned back, his expression rueful. He glanced down, his hand indicating the belt Jim hadn't noticed before.
The sentinel touched it, turning his guide around to find the lock that was secured at the middle of his back. "No... " he began, outrage rendering him nearly unable to speak.
"It's locked on," Blair told him. "They... have a remote control that shocks -- "
Jim turned to Yeager, who was still watching them from the level of the floor. "What did you to do to him?" he demanded, wanting to get to the man and take him apart piece by piece.
"Detective," Yeager responded mildly, "I'd appreciate it if you'd modify your tone. You're in no position to be asking me questions."
"Oh yes, I am," Jim contradicted. "You've kidnapped us, brought us God knows where and tortured us. I think I deserve an answer and my tone is going to get a lot worse if I don't get one."
Yeager raised an eyebrow but otherwise appeared unfazed by Jim's tirade. "Very well," he offered at last. "Come down from there first. Then I'll explain."
Jim looked at Blair who shrugged. "We can't stand up here all day," Blair said morosely. "I'm okay, Jim. Really."
"Right. So am I. Feel like I've been on vacation," Jim murmured as he began helping Blair to climb down the stack of barrels.
He watched Blair's movements and noted he seemed stiff and sore. If what he suspected was true, he knew his partner had to be hurting pretty badly.
"Well?" Jim demanded when they were at floor level and eye to eye with Yeager once more.
"It's a security belt," Yeager said, confirming Jim's suspicion. "It emits a not inconsiderable shock when activated." He pulled a control from his pocket and, at Jim's side, Blair blanched.
Jim looked Yeager in the eyes. "Don't you dare... " he warned menacingly.
"You know, I'd almost like to see what you'd do if I did," Yeager responded, a sneering smile on his lips. He returned the control to his pocket. "Don't worry, Detective. We only used it once."
Jim took a step closer to him. "That was once too many times." His hands were clenching and unclenching at his sides, fighting the primal urge to kill the man who'd dared to hurt his guide.
"I'm okay, Jim," Blair spoke up. He touched Jim's arm, and Ellison drew in a breath, once again able to focus on just Yeager.
"I know what those things can do," he said to Blair. "There's no such thing as a little dose of it." He turned back to Yeager. "Why did you do that to him?"
"We recorded Mr. Sandburg's... response." Yeager appeared to be suppressing a smile.
"I heard it." Jim wanted to smash the man's face in with his fist and record Yeager's response to that.
"I think it was very effective," Yeager went on, unimpressed by Jim's glare and threatening manner. "We know how you feel about Mr. Sandburg. You care deeply for him. He is your friend, your partner. Your 'guide'. That is the correct term, is it not?"
"It's one way to describe it," Blair answered this time. "I suppose you've read my paper... "
"We know that the guide becomes very important to the sentinel," Yeager nodded. "We felt that the best way to procure Detective Ellison's cooperation was to... shall we say... threaten you, Mr. Sandburg. And we were obviously correct." He stood there, appraising them smugly.
"So you got me to perform for you," Jim snapped. "What now?"
"We intend to elaborate on Mr. Sandburg's studies," Yeager explained. "We will do more extensive scientific testing, followed up by training to hone your abilities. I think you will eventually surpass anything you've ever dreamed of doing with your senses."
It was the thing Jim had always feared most -- becoming a lab rat for some pseudo-scientist. But he allowed his face to reveal no reaction to Yeager's comment.
Before he could say anything, however, Blair spoke up. "If you understood anything at all that I wrote, you would know that when someone's forcing Jim against his will, his senses don't work predictably. And when he's upset... " Blair faltered, looked at Jim. "I mean, if you want someone to do something for you, treating them like a prisoner isn't the way to get their cooperation."
"Mr. Sandburg," Yeager grinned, looking bemused, "your verbal abilities are wonderful." He chuckled but didn't say anything more. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a cell phone and hit a key. "Sean? Yes, it's all over. Detective Ellison found Mr. Sandburg. You and the others are welcome to return."
In moments, the others were back inside, along with guards who held weapons ready and pointed at Jim and Blair. Jim wanted to fight, to try to find a means to escape, but their captors had thought things through too well. After the many hours of being held and deprived of rest in the cell, with the constant repetition of Blair's recorded screams, he was exhausted. If an opportunity had presented itself, he would have tried to make the most of it; Ranger training had prepared him to fight no matter how depleted he was. Yet it wasn't just himself he had to worry about. They had put that damned belt on Blair and if they ran all they would have to do was activate it to incapacitate him. Jim couldn't take that chance. The screams were too fresh in his memory.
"Let us adjourn to better quarters, shall we?" Yeager asked momentarily. He glanced at his watch. "It's nearly eleven, I'm sure you gentlemen would appreciate some breakfast."
"What, now you're going to treat us like guests?" Jim snorted.
Yeager didn't respond; instead he started to walk toward the entrance to the building. Carpelli shoved Blair from behind to get him moving and the group headed outside.
Jim looked up at the sky. It was overcast and cold. He figured they were deep into Canada, many miles distant from friends and colleagues who must by now have discovered the bodies left at the loft and thought he and Blair were dead. Had they found Naomi too, he wondered?
He glanced at Blair, who met his eyes, trying to look brave, but Jim could see how shaken he was. He had to protect his guide from now on, until they could regain their strength and get away. It was up to him to make sure Blair wasn't hurt any more, that he didn't learn yet that his mother was most likely dead back in Cascade.
He ruthlessly fought down the anger and desperation that throbbed through him while they walked. It would do no good to let it control his actions now. He had to become unemotional, keep his mind clear, get to know their captors and plan a way to escape. He reached out, his hand going to the small of Blair's back in reassurance. It wasn't much, but from the look on Blair's face, it helped.
continued in Part 4
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