Sentinel - Progression Series 10 Pilgrimage Part 1 Read online

  Disclaimer: The characters depicted within this story do not belong to us, but are the property of Pet Fly, UPN, Paramount and The SciFi Channel. No money has been made from the writing of this story.

  Note from the Authors: In our Sentinel universe, the events depicted in "The Sentinel by Blair Sandburg" did not occur. Therefore, any "canonical" references that may be found in this story are related to episodes up to and including "Most Wanted."

  Dedication: This series is dedicated to friendship, for only through caring for others can we truly find a sense of peace and belonging.

  Pilgrimage, Part I: Descent into Darkness

  Part Ten of “The Progressions Series"

  by Beth Manz and Shiloh

  Part One

  Blair hung up the phone and turned away from the kitchen counter. Making his way over to the living area, he sat down near Jim on the couch. He eyed his friend covertly as he settled into position, then pretended to be semi-interested in the program that was showing on TV. He cast a few additional sidelong glances in Jim's direction, but his partner seemed oblivious to his presence.

  Blair fidgeted where he sat, his fingers beating a silent rhythm against the top of his jeans-clad legs. He needed to discuss the phone call he'd just finished, but he didn't want to disturb Jim's enjoyment of the book he was reading.

  "Just spit it out, Sandburg," the detective intoned suddenly, startling the younger man.

  The older man's gaze hadn't strayed from the page he was reading, but Blair offered him an innocent look just the same. "What?"

  Jim closed his book with dramatic slowness, rested it in his lap and looked over at his roommate. Blair saw Jim's lip twitch ever so slightly, but the detective rapidly got his nearly traitorous features under control. There was no hiding the glint of amusement in his eyes, however. "It's obvious you need to talk to me about something," Jim stated simply. "So, spit it out."

  "I didn't want to disturb you," Blair lied transparently, gesturing toward the book in Jim's lap. "You were reading."

  "Well, I'm not reading now, am I?"

  Blair laughed. "Um, no, I guess you're not."

  "So? What did Dr. Stoddard want?"

  Sandburg frowned. "How'd you know I was talking to Dr. Stoddard?"

  "Oh, I don't know," Jim drawled. "Maybe it's my finely honed detective skills, but I've discovered that usually when you answer the phone and say, 'Hello, Dr. Stoddard,' it means you're talking to Dr. Stoddard."

  Blair graced Jim with what he hoped was his best look of feigned disgust. "Think you're smart, don't you?"

  Jim thought on that a second, then nodded once. "I know I am." He smiled then and reached over to swat Blair lightly on the arm. "I know you were talking with Dr. Stoddard, I know you were discussing your upcoming obligations at the university, and I heard you tell him at least twice that you needed to check with me regarding my schedule before you could give him a definite answer."

  Again, Blair laughed. "Okay, okay. Here's the problem." He held up his hands to help present the plan the chancellor had given to him over the phone. "Dr. Stoddard was scheduled to take three anthropology students to a reservation over near Pasco, but something's come up at the university and now he can't go. I guess these students still need to make the trip because it's extra credit for them and without it…well, they're fried, man. This is their last chance to get a passing grade."

  "And now Eli wants you to escort them in his place?"

  "Exactly. And I was thinking--not only would this be a great chance for the students to earn their extra credit, but I might be able to do a bit of research while I'm there as well. I've been thinking about incorporating some additional material on customs of local Native American tribes into some of my classes. This would be a great way to get some information first-hand."

  Jim shrugged. "Sounds good to me. When would you be taking this trip?"

  "This weekend. Thursday to Sunday. But I won't go if you're going to need me at the station."

  Jim leaned deeper against the cushions and shook his head. "I have court all day Thursday and the way the trial's going, it'll probably run into Friday as well. Then I have the weekend off." Again, the detective shrugged. "I don't see a problem. Tell Eli you'll go."

  "Great!" Blair bounced up off the couch and made his way to the kitchen. "I'll call him back and let him know."

  "Um, Chief?"

  "Yeah?" Blair turned back to his partner, telephone receiver already in hand.

  "Just how are the four of you planning to get to eastern Washington? Please tell me you're not planning on driving the Volvo."

  "Oh, that's one of the best parts. The father of one of the guy’s has agreed to loan him his brand new Toyota Four-Runner for the trip. I've seen this car, Jim, and it is loaded! It has a top-of-the-line stereo system, complete with a six-CD changer and Bose speakers."

  "Ouch," Jim grimaced. "Makes my ears hurt just thinking about it. You sure Dr. Stoddard wasn't just trying to get out of what could have been a potentially deafening experience?"

  Blair laughed. "No way, man. His excuse is legitimate."

  "I see." As Blair watched, Jim opened his book and found the place he'd left off reading. "So…you want to borrow a few of my Santana CDs for the trip?" Ellison asked arcanely, his eyes focused on the page before him but an unmistakable tone of teasing in his voice.

  "Oh, yeah, right," Blair answered as he punched in Dr. Stoddard's number. "College students already think anyone over the age of twenty-five is terminally out of touch. If I show up with samples of your music, I'll be labeled an old geezer for sure."

  /

  "I really appreciate you getting up so early to drop me off," Blair told his partner for the third time since the two men had left the loft.

  "It's not a problem," Jim assured him…again. He looked over at his roommate. The younger man was the picture of nervous energy. He sat bent forward in the truck seat, his head bowed over a road map. His hair was tied back loosely and his glasses were perched rather precariously on the tip of his nose.

  Jim couldn't help but smile. The kid's excitement was almost palpable. And no wonder--this trip to Pasco was all his partner had talked about for the last two days. Jim was happy Blair had been given the opportunity to accompany the Rainier University students--not only would the excursion to eastern Washington afford his friend a change of scenery, but Jim knew how much Blair loved any opportunity to delve into other cultures.

  He returned his gaze to the road before him. "Have you located the best route to the reservation yet?"

  "I'm trying, but I can't find Route 9 anywhere." Blair fussed with the map for a second, then looked over at Jim. "Andrew--that's the kid whose father is loaning us the Toyota--he told me last night that we'll be sticking to the major highways until we're about thirty miles west of Pasco. Then we're supposed to turn off onto Route 9 and follow it to the reservation." Blair returned his attention to the map. "But I'm not seeing it."

  For the first time since leaving the loft, Jim took a good look at the map. What he saw made shake his head in disbelief. Biting back on a sudden urge to laugh, he reached over and tugged at the map. "Maybe this will help," he offered blandly. Slowly, with great deliberation, he turned the map so it was right side up.

  Blair gaped down at the map, then scowled across at Jim. "Oh, very funny. You just love this, don't you?"

  This time Jim didn't try to stifle his laughter. "Actually, Sandburg, you're scaring the life out of me. You, three students, and a map?" He shook his head in amused consternation. "Do any of you have even the slightest idea where you're going?"

  "Yes,
Jim. We have the map, directions and a compass."

  "In other words, I'm going to have to send a search party after you on Sunday night."

  "Ha, ha," Blair replied petulantly, folding the map and tucking it into his backpack. "No. You’ll pick me up right where you’re dropping me off.”

  Jim smiled and glanced up at the overcast sky. The cloud cover, thick and dark, hung low, a precursor of the rain the area was predicted to receive later in the day. "The weather's supposed to be cold and wet this weekend," he warned Blair. "And you know how quickly a storm can come up on the passes. I just wish this reservation you're visiting had a phone."

  "Jim, you're worrying too much,“ Blair replied in exasperation. “We're leaving early enough that we'll miss the rain, and I have my cell phone with me….”

  “A cell phone that won’t work once you hit the higher elevations,” Jim reminded him.

  “That won’t matter because I won’t need it--everything will be perfect." He swatted Jim on the arm. "I'm warning you, man--if I come back on Sunday and find out you've worried about this trip all weekend, I'm going to be totally ticked off at you."

  Jim glanced over at his friend and found him looking in his direction, mischief lurking in the depths of the expressive blue eyes. "And you know what it means when I get ticked, man. I work out my frustrations by inventing more sensory tests for you. Do you really want that?"

  Jim laughed and held up a hand in surrender. "No, no. I don't want that."

  "All right, then," Blair announced finally. As Jim watched, Blair's bright grin softened. "Hey," he began, his voice taking on a warm, gentle tone, "even blessed protectors need to take a break from time to time. We'll be fine."

  Jim couldn't help but smile in return. "I know you will, Chief.”

  /

  Jim pulled the truck in ahead of the shiny gold Four-Runner. He glanced up into the rear view mirror as he put the truck in Park and turned off the engine. All three of the male students Blair was accompanying that weekend had already arrived; they were milling busily around the SUV, packing their gear into the vehicle and talking animatedly among themselves. Jim shook his head--it appeared the students were as excited about this trip as his partner seemed to be. He was sure it would be a lively ride across the state to Pasco.

  "Well, Chief," he smiled across at Blair, "here you are. You need any help with your gear?"

  “No, I can get it."

  “You sure? I could carry that fish-sticking thing you brought.”

  Blair pursed his lips and shot Jim a scathing look. “That’s not a ‘fish-sticking thing,’ Jim. It’s a Cree Indian fishing spear. There’s supposed to be a great stream near the reservation and I thought maybe I could show the guys how to catch trout in one of the more traditional methods.”

  Jim nodded. “I’m assuming that won’t be your only source of food the entire weekend. Or should I say lack of food.”

  Blair glared at him, his seat belt already off and his hand positioned on the door handle. “I’ve used it before, Jim. I know what I’m doing.”

  “Sure you do,” Jim mumbled just loud enough for Blair to hear.

  Blair rolled his eyes before motioning for Jim to follow him. "Come on, man. Sarcastic attitude and all, I still want you to meet the guys." With that, he opened the door and jumped out of the truck.

  Jim followed and introductions were quickly made. Andrew Rehse, the boy whose father had loaned them the car for the weekend, was the tallest of the three. He seemed more gregarious and outspoken than the other two, asking Jim questions about the job of a police detective, showing a real interest in his work. The other boys, Peter Meade and Stan Gillman, were more reserved. It was obvious to Jim that the students inhabited an entirely different world than the one in which he operated--a realization that made the detective feel uncomfortably old. Peter and Stan called him "sir" a lot and tended to just nod uneasily or mumble quick responses when he spoke to them or asked them a question.

  All three of the boys seemed polite and responsible, however, and Jim's misgivings about the weekend trip waned a bit. Andrew, especially, appeared to be capable and quick-thinking--the perfect person to help Blair should the four get into any kind of trouble at all, whether it be a flat tire or something worse.

  He assisted silently as the boys finished loading their gear and prepared to get underway. All three easily included Blair in their conversation as they worked, laughing and exchanging small jokes. But what struck Jim the most was their underlying attitude toward Sandburg. Jim didn’t often get to see his partner interact with his students. Seeing the respect these boys had for Blair--hearing them refer to him as “Dr. Sandburg”--Jim couldn't help but feel an almost paternal sensation of pride.

  "All right," he overheard Blair telling them, clearly in control already, "time to get this show on the road. You guys load in, and I'll be right there."

  As the boys piled into the Toyota, Blair stepped close to Jim. Looking up into his eyes, he smiled. "Okay, Jim, we're out of here. Have a great weekend, and…try not to miss me too much."

  Jim folded his arms across his chest and looked down at Sandburg. "Are you kidding?" he shot back. "Three days of peace and quiet, no wet towels to pick up off the floor, no strange foods taking on a life of their own in the back of the refrigerator…. It's going to be heaven on earth."

  "Hassle me all you want, man." He bounced up on his toes and poked at Jim's chest. "But I know you're going to miss me."

  "Well, you're probably right about that," Jim agreed, giving his partner a broad smile. He unfolded his arms and reached out to squeeze briefly at Blair's shoulder. "Seriously, Chief, you be careful." He pointed down at him. "And take it easy. That cut in your side isn't completely healed yet."

  Blair's face clouded for a moment and Jim knew his thoughts had turned back to Hannah Merrick, to the wound he'd received at the hands of Philip Kaage not two weeks earlier. Jim’s jaw clenched as he thought about the seemingly harmless Records clerk, about how close she had come to killing his partner. But the woman is safely behind bars and she’ll remain behind bars until her trial, Jim thought, determined to put her out of his mind until then.

  As he looked down at his partner, he realized Blair was smiling up at him.

  “I’ll see you in four days,” he said, backing toward the waiting SUV. "And good luck in court," he called out as he pulled open the front passenger door.

  Jim nodded in acknowledgment of the comment then made his way to his truck, climbed into the cab, and fastened the seat belt across his lap. He looked out through the driver's side window as he cranked the engine to life. Andrew had pulled out from behind him and the Toyota was passing his side of the truck. He glanced across at the occupants of the vehicle and found Blair smiling at him, waving then giving him a thumbs-up sign.

  Jim chuckled as the Four-Runner pulled away and blended into the light, early morning traffic. "Have a ball, Chief," he wished his friend.

  /

  “Dr. Sandburg?”

  Blair looked over at the young man behind the wheel of the car. “Yes?”

  Andrew gave him a quick glance, his expression suddenly reticent. “Um…I was wondering…. What’s it like working with the police?”

  Blair smiled. He'd noticed Andrew’s interest in Jim’s work, all the questions he’d asked his friend about being a police officer. “Well, it’s dangerous,” he answered honestly. “But it’s also very satisfying, especially when we're able to see criminals taken off the streets and put away for their crimes.”

  Andrew nodded, his eyes narrowing slightly as he considered Blair’s words. “I think it would be a great job." Again, he looked over at Blair. "Do you carry a gun, Dr. Sandburg?"

  Blair laughed and held up his hands. "No way. Even if I wanted to carry a gun, which I don't, legally I can't. I'm not a police officer, Andrew. Just a consultant, an observer."

  "But you've seen cops shoot a lot of people, right?"

  "I've witnessed some shootings, yes. But
you have to remember that a police officer only fires his weapon as a last resort. They always try to talk a situation down first. In some ways, being a good cop requires more of a sense of human nature and how to deal with people than it does knowing how to use a gun."

  "That's what I thought," the young man said softly. "If I could only get my dad to accept that."

  "Your dad?"

  Andrew nodded his head. "When I was a kid,” he admitted reluctantly, “I wanted to be a cop.”

  “What changed your mind?”

  He shrugged one shoulder. “My dad. His idea of police work is what he sees on television…. You know, a bunch of macho guys running around shooting everything that moves and being shot at all the time." Andrew sighed. "He thought I’d get myself killed.”