Back to Part 1 SVS2-15: Brackett's Game by MrsHamill, Part 2 In the middle of the night, Jim woke. He was aware he was home, but it wasn't the same... he was alone on the big bed. Simon had hired a crew to restore and clean up some of the damage to the loft -- and he needed to think of a way to thank him for that -- but still, the sight of it had been a shock. Whoever had tossed it had done a very professional job. Two of the copies had been found... one in their small, fireproof safe -- that was kept in plain sight in the walk-in closet -- and the other behind one of the bricks under the staircase. The other copy hadn't been disturbed though, and the loft hadn't been bugged. The sight of the bed upstairs... the mattress had been torn into on one side... nearly made him scream, but it was the remains of the beautiful glass wolf that had really done him in. The panther had come through with only a small scratch, but the wolf had been shattered, and with it, Jim's composure. He felt like a world-class dork, falling apart like he did on Jane's shoulder, but he was painfully, dreadfully glad of their presence. With a sigh, he sat up, pushing away his anguish over the empty half of the bed, and padded downstairs to use the bathroom. When he emerged, Marty met him at the French doors. "Are y'all right, Jamie?" she whispered, touching his arm gently. "Yeah, yeah, I'm okay," he replied, rubbing his head. "Sorry about..." "No need, lad." Marty gave him a brief hug, then pushed him toward the stairs. "I know how I'd feel if it were Janey. Go on with you now. You need to sleep." He smiled gently at her. "Thanks, Marty," he said, hoping the sincerity in his voice would convey his gratitude. She smiled back and returned to her cot. His heart somehow lighter, Jim lay back down on the bed, pulling one of Blair's pillows to himself. Before he realized it, he was asleep. Simon was as good as his word, and appeared at the loft door with the shift change at six a.m. Since he also had warm Krispy Kreme donuts and take-out from the diner around the corner, they weren't inclined to give him grief for his early arrival. Jim even found he had an appetite again, especially when Megan proposed to Simon in an attempt to get more than her share of donuts. "I had a call late last evening, Jim," Simon told him at one point, pulling him aside. "From your friend, Jack Kelso." Jim's donut froze half way to his mouth. "Jack called?" "Yeah. You didn't call him, did you?" Simon asked. "No," Jim affirmed, confused. "What did he say?" "Well, it's more along the lines of what he didn't say, if you get me," Simon said. "He wants to come over and meet with you. I think... I think he might have something." "What did you tell him?" Jim tamped down a leap of hope in his chest. "Actually, I told him to meet us here this morning." Simon looked up and saw that Marty, at least, was paying close attention to their conversation. "He should be here in an hour or so, unless I call him to cancel. He said he's bringing someone with him. I hope I didn't overstep, but I'd rather meet him here than at the station." "Yeah, me too," Jim said, nodding to Simon. "Too many eyes at the station." "My thought exactly," Simon agreed. "And -- well, depending on what he says -- we might not want to get the Feds involved in it." Both Jim and Marty heard the arrival of Jack Kelso's modified van while they all were working on repairing the loft. It was still early, but food, sleep and company had fortified Jim to the point where he felt almost normal. Jack was wheeled into the loft by an older, heavy-set man whose very demeanor almost screamed "Fed" to Jim, although he couldn't say why. After introductions, it turned out he was right. The first thing Jack did after getting his wheelchair settled in front of Jim, Marty and Simon -- all sitting on the sofa -- was to give Jim a very intense look, and ask, "Jim. Is the loft bugged?" He knew. Jim gaped at him for a second, unable to reply due to the shock of realization. Kelso knew about his Sentinel abilities -- hell, it made sense he'd know. The man was far from dumb. Luckily, Marty picked up the slack. After giving both Jim and Jack a studied look, she replied. "No. There's naught here. The place is secure." Jack turned to assess her. Jim had merely introduced her as 'a friend of the family, so to speak’, but now shook himself and called up his voice. "Marty's actually Inspector Martise MacLachlan, from Edinburgh," he said. "Still a 'family friend’, though, I take it?" Jack asked pointedly. Jim blinked slowly and nodded. "Sorry, I -- you just took me by surprise for a minute there." "Don't know why," Kelso replied blandly. "After all, it's not like there's anything to hide here, right?" Realization dawned and Jim began to breathe easier. Yes, Kelso had figured it out, but Jack was sharp... he wouldn't let himself believe it, probably under the theory that what he didn't -- or maybe wouldn't -- know couldn't hurt him. Wise man. The man with Kelso -- introduced as George Regan -- had been following the conversation with some confusion, and now he spoke up. "Detective, I'm not entirely sure what's going on here -- nor am I sure that I want to know -- but I flew out from Langley last night to give you some information that might be of help to finding your partner." He opened a large folio on his lap and looked up to Jack. "Captain Banks," Kelso said, "we have a mutual acquaintance in Washington, as it turns out. He instructed me to give you his best." "In Washington?" Simon said, frowning. "But... he works on the wrong side of the river, I thought?" "Some of us think there should be no 'wrong side of the river,' Captain," Regan said wryly. "Unfortunately, we have to keep that feeling a secret. Jack's friend is a friend of mine as well, and when word of the kidnapping finally trickled down to us, well, we ended up putting our heads together." "George is going a bit out on a limb for you, Jim," Jack said softly. "Nonsense, Jack," Regan replied mildly, "I'm merely out here visiting an old friend who's gotten sick. You are beginning to look better, though, I must say -- must be due to my calming presence." Jim and Jack both smiled and Regan chuckled. "Anyway... The Agency got word of something big in the wind about a month ago, when one of our 'most wanted' was eliminated -- a name I believe you know. Krycek?" Jim nodded and swallowed. "Good. Saves time then. A some-time colleague of this Krycek, named Teodor Gnosovelich -- a.k.a. Ted Gregory -- disappeared about the same time, and rumor was that he was onto something hot, something that involved the name Ellison." Jane gasped, but no one moved as Regan continued. "We had no clue it was you, Detective, and no reason to connect you. But when your partner was kidnapped, the name Ellison came out of Washington and rang bells in Langley." "And when you tried to contact your friend in Washington, Captain," Jack said to Simon, "that set off other alarms. He called me since he knew I'm usually aware of everything that happens out here, then sent you an email, I believe." "Yes, I got it yesterday," Simon choked. "Washington doesn't usually talk to Langley, you know," Regan said, his mouth turning up into a grin. "It's a damn shame, but one that we can usually live with. But not in this case. Something's going on, and it's something big, and all we're really certain of is that it involves you, Ellison, your partner, Gnosovelich, and an item that was stolen from a collector in New York two weeks ago." Jim paled. "Oh, shit," he murmured. "Ah," Regan said, clearing his throat. "Ah. So. It's like that, then. Well, trust me, I don't really want to know -- I'm up for retirement in five years. But Jack is a good friend, and he cares about you and your partner, so for him, I'll give you the rest of it. Here's the only known picture of Gnosovelich, which isn't very good, I'm afraid, and a copy of his bio. Of course, I have no idea how you came by that." "Of course," Jim replied, looking through the thick folder. "And one last bit of information, which I think may be the most significant of all. We know that Krycek and Gnosovelich worked together -- sometimes. Krycek was a double -- or maybe even triple or quadruple -- agent, who worked for the Russians, the Iraqis, hell, probably the Martians -- and even for the FBI at one time, as an agent." "What?" Jim exclaimed, looking up in shock. "Yeah, I'm afraid so. Our mutual friend isn't proud of that, but -- well, at least the snake is dead. There's a third man who also worked with them from time to time, and who may have more information on this hot prospect, whatever it is. In fact, I'd be almost willing to bet my pension on it. He may be your only hope in finding out where Gnosovelich is and what he's up to." "Well, then, he's not dead at least," Simon murmured, reading over Jim's shoulder. "Oh, no, far from it," Regan agreed, rewrapping his folio. "And he's easy to find, to boot. Although I don't know how you'll get in to see him -- I can't help you with that." "Why, where is he?" Jim asked, looking up to meet Regan's eyes. "Leavenworth. As a matter of fact, Detective, you helped put him there -- something I am quite grateful for, by the way, which is another reason why I don't mind helping you in this. His name is Lee Brackett." "If this works, Simon and I are flying to Kansas alone," Jim told Marty that afternoon. They were in Simon's office. "Bollocks to that," Marty replied calmly. "You won't be leaving us behind, Ellison." "Simon..." "Hell, no," Simon said, raising his hands. "You think I want to fly out there with a Sentinel who might zone on me? Forget it, I'm on her side." Marty smirked at Jim. "Although I have no idea how we're going to sell it..." "We don't even know if this will work," Jim said morosely. He grimaced at Marty and Jane. "But you two need to be waiting out in the bullpen regardless. If whatshername--" "Kirby," Simon supplied. "Right, Kirby. If she doesn't go for it, we could all be in deep kimchee." "She'll go for it," Jane said, confident for some reason. Simon, Jim and Marty all turned towards her in surprise. "She will," Jane insisted. "I've -- I've got a feeling, okay?" "Oh, shit, not another of them," Simon moaned, and Jim shook his head. "I'd still rather the two of you stayed here," Jim finished. Marty snorted in amusement and stood. She opened her mouth to say something, but just then, Rhonda ran into the room. "Just got the call from downstairs, they're here, Simon," she said softly. "Great, just great. You two -- out. But listen in. Send them in when they get here, Rhonda." Assistant Director Ellie Kirby was a deceptively small woman. She only came up to Simon's armpit and had soft brown hair shot with silver threads. But she wasn't in the room with them for five minutes before they realized why she was in charge of the FBI regional office in Cascade. She came in with an aide, sat at Simon's conference table and put a thin file on the table in front of her. "I don't know why you demanded this meeting, Captain," she said softly, her light southern lilt belying the steel they could hear beneath her voice. "I have nothing new to share with you, and anything you've found I'm certain we already know about." "Actually, Agent Kirby," Simon said, smiling gently at her, "all we really want to know is when we can get out to Leavenworth to meet with Brackett." Her eyes slightly narrowed and her heart just barely speeded up. Jim was impressed. "Brackett?" she asked calmly. "Yes, Lee Brackett," Simon confirmed. "Since, as you've pointed out, you know everything we know, you are of course cognizant of the fact that he's our best bet into the mind of Gnosovelich. So when are we flying out to Kansas?" Her heart rate almost doubled at that, and she glared at Simon and Jim. "Actually, to get to Leavenworth, you have to fly into Kansas City, Missouri," she said blandly. "But it won't do you a lick of good. Where did you get that name, Captain?" "We have our own sources, Kirby," Jim said, studying her carefully. "Just as, I'm sure, you have yours. We need to talk to Brackett. I'm sure you've already done so and not found him forthcoming." The silence lengthened as Kirby faced down Ellison. "Lee Brackett is tighter than a horse's ass in the summer," she finally agreed, and her aide shot her a surprised look. "I don't see why, however, I should let two civilians question him where the combined Federal forces have had no effect." Jim suddenly slapped the table with his hand, hard, making Simon and Kirby's aide jump, but having absolutely no effect on Kirby. "Because it's my partner that's been kidnapped, lady," he ground out, standing and leaning over the table at her. "Because I was the one to put Brackett away in the first place. Because you owe me this, goddammit!" "Jim," Simon murmured, pulling on his arm. Jim let himself be soothed and settled back in his chair, but didn't take his eyes off Kirby. "You may be a hotshot in the police force here and may have big friends in Langley," Kirby said, her voice pleasant, "but you're not dealing with either the local yokels or No Such Agency now, Detective. I'd advise you to keep that famous temper of yours in check." Jim clenched his fists under the table and tried to breathe deeply. He could almost hear Sandburg coaching him -- 'breathe, Jim, just breathe; don't let her get to you'. She wanted to get a rise out of him -- well, she got one. But that was the only one she was going to get. To his surprise, Simon spoke up on his behalf. "And I'd advise you, A. D. Kirby, not to cross Detective Ellison, because Ellison speaks for the entire police force. Sandburg is one of us. And if you ever want any cooperation from us again, you'd best watch your own temper." He leaned across the table, his hands clasped before him, and smiled gently at her. "I think I've made myself clear." She granted him the point with a small tilt of her head. "Perfectly, Captain. What do you want?" "Round trip for four -- myself, Ellison and two officers -- to Leavenworth, and a private conference with Brackett." "For four?" she asked, frowning. Simon shrugged. "It's obvious to me that Ellison is the one they were really after; I have no intention of leaving his security open to any agency other than the Cascade Police Department." "You realize, a private conference would be out of the question." "It had better not be," Simon disagreed mildly. Her eyes snapped at the two of them. "I'll see what I can do. Good day, gentlemen." "What's happening?" Simon asked quietly, watching Jim. Jim had his head cocked and was listening intently. "She's taking it out on her aide," Jim finally said, smirking. "That is one pissed-off lady, Simon. I don't think I recognize more than half the words she's using." "Heh heh heh." Simon chuckled as he walked back to his desk and picked up the cigar left on his blotter. "So are you willing to concede the point, Detective?" Jim rolled his eyes. "All right, all right, head-on was the best way to go," he said, sighing. "Marty, you can come on in now. But I still don't want them going with us to Leavenworth." "I still dinna ken why you are so keen to leave us here, Jamie," Marty said as she opened the door. "You know that two of us would be better than one." Jim paced to the windows, turned, then leaned against the sill with a sigh. "Look. Brackett -- he's a snake in the grass, all right? The man was willing to turn the entire city of Cascade -- and most of the Pacific Northwest, for that matter -- into melted flesh in order to steal an airplane." He looked from Jane's horrified face to Marty's frowning one. "He's amoral. Completely and utterly without a conscience. Why would I want to subject anyone else to that depraved mind?" "And how is this different from some of the rotten bastards that Marty's been tracking down in Scotland?" Jane said abruptly, heatedly. "She is a police officer, you know, not some poncey little bird to be protected!" "Janey," Marty said, a smile quirking her lips. "Humph. Now I suppose you're going to take me to task for standing up for you," Jane said, putting her hands on her hips and glaring at her cousin. "No, I was going to say how shocked I am that you called me 'poncey'," Marty said, then when Jane goggled at her, she embraced her tightly. "You can stand up for me any time you like, lass," she said, laughing. "It's the Sandburg effect," Jim muttered, looking at his shoes. "He does the same thing." Both Jane and Marty sighed at that, and Marty reached out to grab Jim's arm. "We're going with you for the same reason he would, Jamie," she said softly. "To protect you. We'll be fine." "That is assuming we're going at all," Simon said sourly. When four round-trip tickets to Kansas City, Missouri arrived by courier at five o'clock, they all knew that they were going. The plane left at six a.m. the next day -- Friday -- which, from her muttered comments, Jane apparently figured was A.D. Kirby's way of getting back at them. Marty kept her laughter inside -- her cousin was definitely not a morning person. Well, for that matter, neither was she at the moment -- she was still suffering from jet lag. Jim had had a rough night too and wasn't very awake in the morning. He insisted Jane and Marty take the big bed upstairs while he took the futon, and Rafe stayed overnight sleeping on one of the camp cots. But Marty heard Jim up half the night, pacing like a caged animal, and her heart bled for him. She had seen how close Jim and Blair were, knew from their letters and emails what they meant to each other, and knew too, from having her beloved cousin as a Guide, what it meant for Jim to lose Blair. It was a surly bunch that boarded the plane at Cascade International, but being in a bad mood just meant they all kept quiet and stayed to themselves. The flight was just over three hours and bumpy; and it was another hour from the airport to the "Big House" in Leavenworth, in the van that was waiting for them at the terminal. Marty caught Simon chuckling as he settled in the van, and she couldn't resist asking why. "It tickles me that the Feds are picking up the dime on this," he admitted to her sheepishly. "I just wish I could get them to pick up more things that they should." Just before noon they pulled up outside the Federal Penitentiary, a large, rather hideous building that apparently dated back to the Jurassic. It took close to another hour for their paperwork to be processed, but, finally, they were led to a heavily guarded room which contained one table and five chairs. A few minutes later, Brackett was brought in. Marty wasn't sure what she had been expecting, but it was hardly this emaciated, bent man wearing shackles and a stained blue sweat suit. Hair that was probably light brown was greasy and badly cut, he had bags under his eyes and bruises on his face and arms, from what she could see under the long sleeves and shackles. She heard Jim inhale sharply as he took in Brackett's appearance and realized that the man must have significantly changed during his time in prison. When Brackett looked up and spotted Ellison, he froze for a moment, and his dull gray eyes suddenly took on a little sparkle. Then he stumbled as the guard behind him pushed him forward, directing him to a seat on one side of the table. Making sure Brackett was seated, the other guard turned to them. "You have one hour," he said, then turned and left, locking the door behind him. Simon had elected to stand and did so in one corner of the small, square room. Marty and Jane sat in chairs against the far wall, and Jim took one of the two chairs on the other side of the table, turned it and straddled it, then studied Brackett. Brackett studied him back. "Why, Jim Ellison, as I live and breathe," Brackett finally murmured. "What a lovely surprise. Had I known you were coming I would have changed the sheets." Marty could hear Jim's jaw clench and his teeth grind, but there was no other sign that Ellison was affected by what Brackett said. He continued to sit, thoughtfully examining the prisoner, who finally swallowed. "I take it this isn't purely a social call, then?" "You know why we're here, Brackett," Jim said, breaking his silence. To Marty's surprise, his voice was soft and controlled. "Do I?" Brackett asked. "Well, let me see. You haven't visited in all the years I've been stuck in this hellhole, you haven't written, haven't called -- what's a poor mother to think? I was hoping you'd visit out of the kindness of your heart. Oh, wait --" Brackett smiled, and it wasn't a nice smile. "-- that's right, you don't have one. Sandburg keeps it. I forgot. Where is your little buddy, Ellison?" Marty reached out and put one hand on Jim's shoulder. She could feel the tension radiating off him and knew he was close to the edge. "It won't help if you kill him before we get the information, Jamie," she said, so softly she knew only Jim would pick it up. The muscles under her hand relaxed marginally, and she sat back. Brackett had followed the exchange, his eyes like a hawk's. He examined Marty carefully, and she found she had to struggle to remain calm under that gaze. Then he shifted to Jane, and suddenly it was Marty who had to fight an instinctive urge to leap the table and throttle Brackett. Glancing at Jane, she was brought up short by the expression on her cousin's face. Jane had that utterly fascinated look that she usually reserved for special situations and her favorite type of puzzle. It made Marty uneasy for some reason. "Give it up, Brackett," Jim suddenly said, wrenching the other man's attention back to him. "I know you know about Sandburg and the amulet and Gnosovelich. You're the only man who might know what he's up to, so we need to know what you know." "Ah," Brackett said, leaning back in his chair. It was hard to look smug while wearing chains, but somehow, he managed. "So. The great Jim Ellison needs my help. What's in it for me?" "How about I let you continue to live?" Ellison replied softly, but Brackett merely chuckled. "I've been inside for over three years, Ellison. You think you can possibly do to me anything that hasn't already been done?" He looked genuinely amused, but there was a hint of something -- pain, maybe -- in his eyes. "You're going to have to come up with better incentive than that." It was Jane who suddenly spoke up, surprising them all. "Tell him, Jim," she said, not taking her eyes from the convict. "Tell him what happened." Jim turned and stared at her. She tore her eyes away from Brackett to meet his gaze and nodded. "Go on," she encouraged him. Frowning, shaking his head, Jim turned back to Brackett with a sigh. "All right, then. Gnosovelich tried to kidnap me but got Blair instead. We think he's got two pieces of the amulet, and he's after the other two." "Two pieces?" Brackett said, suddenly intent. "Yeah, one from a collector in New York and one that Krycek stole from the Cascade Museum last year," Jim replied cautiously. "He's got Krycek's?" Brackett blinked. "How...?" "Krycek's dead, Brackett," Jim said, leaning forward. Marty -- and Jim, no doubt -- could tell that this information floored Brackett, though he showed very little outward sign of it. "I don't believe that," he finally said, licking his lips nervously and looking away from them. "It's true, we've had confirmation," Ellison said, cocking his head. "What were you doing hanging out with Fibbies, Brackett? You two members of a bottom-feeder's club or something?" Brackett worked hard to control himself and, after a moment, looked up at Ellison. His eyes were even more haunted than before. "No, one of us had to be on top, Ellison. I'm sure you know how that is." There was not a single note of teasing or sarcasm in his voice, and his heart was still hammering. There was something here that lay just out of Marty's reach. She looked at the two men -- Brackett's flushed face and Jim's in profile -- and tried to figure out what was happening. She felt as if she had missed a turn and, suddenly, the whole situation had become a dangerously bizarre kind of game. Simon spoke abruptly from his corner of the room. "What's it going to take, Brackett?" Both Jim and Brackett turned to him, and Brackett visibly calmed. "You know we need your help, so what's it going to take?" Brackett swallowed again and put his manacled hands on the table in front of him. "Well, let's see if I've got this straight. My good friend Teddy tried to get Ellison here and got his -- what's the PC term again? Oh, yeah -- partner, instead. He's got two pieces and wants the other two, and he knows how to get them." Brackett looked at Jim and grinned slyly. "Yeah, he knows how to get them." Jim's eyes widened and his breath stuttered. "You -- you goddamned son of a bitch --" he growled, and Brackett laughed. "You're really going to have to get a new groove, Ellison," he said, leaning back in his chair. "The caveman routine is growing mighty thin." He leaned forward again and his look grew intent. "It's a game, Ellison. A game. Teddy plays it well -- but I play it better. I can help you get him. But I've got conditions." "What do we look like, Brackett -- Feds?" Simon's voice was disgusted. "We can't fill any of your so-called conditions." "No, but a man named Hamilton can," Brackett replied casually. "He's been after me for at least a week now. Hell, he's probably listening in on our conversation right now." Jane glanced at Marty, and Marty shook her head slightly. "Get him in here. I'll play. If my rules are the ones we follow." Simon pounded on the door and it opened immediately to show the guards who had escorted Brackett. He stepped outside and had a hushed conversation with them, and one left, leaving the other to re-lock the door. During this interaction, Jim sat quietly, thinking. It had been less than five days since Blair had disappeared. Something had apparently happened to Brackett in prison, but Jim found he really could not care less. Less than five days. And Jim was beginning to feel like a hamster on a wheel. Could Brackett really help them find Blair? Would he? Jim looked up from his musings to find Brackett's eyes trained on him. They were somehow knowing, somehow aware of his thoughts. Brackett said it was a game -- well, it might be a game to him, but it was hardly a game to Jim. Hardly a game at all. Hamilton showed with gratifying speed. He might not have been listening to the conversation, but he was obviously aware of it and ready for intervention. He was a tall, skinny man with a pockmarked face, a shock of red hair-- graying at the temples -- and piercing green eyes. On his arrival in the room, he completely ignored Simon, Brackett and the two women, and spoke to Ellison. "We've heard from Gnosovelich," he said, in lieu of a greeting. "He's demanding we turn you over to him for your partner." "What?!" Jim leapt to his feet and moved towards Hamilton, his hands clenched at his side. "When?" "Late yesterday. We're hoping to hear from him again soon." Hamilton's eyes narrowed as he took in Ellison's demeanor. "And you didn't see fit to tell us this?" This was from Simon who was as much in Hamilton's face as Jim was. "We knew you were on your way out here," Hamilton shrugged. "You know now. What do you have from him?" he asked, cocking his head towards Brackett. Jim was obviously seething and, with a look, Marty encouraged Jane to go to him. Jane did so, touching his arm, hoping to soothe him. Jim jumped when she touched him, but turned to look at her and took a deep breath. He backed down and went back to his chair to sit. "Why don't you ask him?" he snarled. Jane went back to her seat, and Marty took her hand for a moment, squeezing it. Hamilton was obviously not happy with that response, but finally turned towards Brackett, who was grinning. "Such a display of testosterone!" Brackett laughed. "Haven't seen the like since... oh, last night in the showers. Hello, Ham, ol' chum. How are you today?" "Can it, Brackett," Hamilton said. "You've been giving me squat for the last week. If you've got anything germane to say, say it now." "Well, certain information that Ellison and his pals here have given me -- which you saw fit to withhold, I might add, and it breaks my heart that you did -- has given me incentive to play with you boys. No insult intended," he added, smiling at Marty and Jane. "What do you want, Brackett?" Hamilton asked again, taking a deep breath. "I'll help you get Gnosovelich," Brackett said, leaning back in his chair and looking up at Hamilton with a grin. "On two conditions." "What." "I can't do it from in here. I want to be released into Ellison's custody for the duration, and I want my sentence reduced." "No." Hamilton's voice was firm. "Then I don't play, and you don't get Teddy." Brackett looked from Jim to Simon and shrugged, as if to say, it's out of my hands. "Shame about Sandburg." "You fucking bastard..." Jim growled, but Brackett cut him off. "It's not my call, Jimbo." Brackett's voice was harsh for once. "You tell Hamilton to play with me, and I'll play with you. Because you won't find Teddy without me. Not even you can do that, Ellison." Brackett held the upper hand in this, and he knew it. No longer did he look like the ragged, on-the-edge, lost soul; instead, Marty found herself almost admiring the man for his balls. "It's not negotiable, Brackett," Hamilton said firmly. "You were sentenced to life. You'll come up for parole in about thirty-five years, give or take. And we don't allow convicted felons to take vacations." "Take it or leave it, Ham. And if I were you, I'd take it. You won't get a better offer from Ellison here, who looks like he's about to burst a blood vessel." "Hamilton," Simon barked, and the Fed turned toward him, frowning. "I don't like it either, because I trust that -- that piece of pond scum about as far as I can fling a piano." "Captain, you wound me," Brackett said, still grinning. Simon didn't even spare him a grimace. "But I'll tell you this, Hamilton. Sandburg is my man and Ellison's partner. If Brackett can get him back from Gnosovelich, then come hell or high water, he's getting what he wants." "Banks, I don't care if your man is Jesus Christ himself. It's not happening." "Oh, yes, it is," Simon ground out, pushing himself into Hamilton's space. "One way or the other. Don't cross me, Hamilton. We can either work together on this or I can make your life a living hell. The next time one of your goddamned Fibbies needs PD help you can tell them to go looking for it up your ass, nowhere else. And I doubt your boss would appreciate that." Hamilton's face turned an interesting shade of purple -- one that really clashed with his hair -- as he looked between Banks, Brackett and Ellison. Marty couldn't see Jim's face, but whatever was in his eyes must have really had an impact on Hamilton, because right after he looked at Jim, he whirled and marched to the door. He banged on it once, then turned back to the room. "I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere." "Wouldn't dream of it, old boy," Brackett said, waving gaily. It was a long, hard, hungry day. Jim and Simon apparently were operating on pure adrenaline, but Marty and Jane -- told beforehand to keep as quiet as possible, so as not to blow their cover -- had no such help. By two-thirty, when Hamilton had Brackett taken back to his cell and instructed them to not go far away, they were starving. A sympathetic clerk in the front office directed them to a nearby diner that catered to the administrative crowd at the Big House, and Marty and Jane directed a nearly oblivious Jim and Simon there. The two men were engaged in a battle of words -- soft words, harsh words. Jim was boiling, trying to get his head around the fact that an avowed enemy held his partner's life in his hands, and Simon was doing his best to get Jim to calm down and face reason. The two women just steered them to a booth in the back of the diner and ordered salad and burgers all around, hoping the smell of food would distract the men from their preoccupation. It had something of the desired effect. When his salad was placed before him, Jim stopped in mid-sentence and looked up. "What the hell?" he asked. Jane shook her head. "Food, Jim. Food. You put it in your mouth and chew, then swallow. Like this." She picked up her fork and shoveled a big piece of tomato into her mouth. "It's good. You should try it." Both Simon and Jim sighed, and Simon gave Jane a weak smile. "It does look good," he said. "I can't believe I didn't even notice what you two were doing." "It's been a harsh day, sir. It looks to only get worse, as well," Marty said softly. "We need to keep up our strength." Jim responded by picking up his fork and beginning to eat. He kept his eyes on his plate, though, and wouldn't look up. "D'you think that Hamilton will roll over?" Marty asked Simon, who sighed. "I don't know," he said. "We need Brackett. I hope Hamilton's got someone above him with a lick of sense. Otherwise... well, we're screwed." Jim put his fork down and rested his head in his hands. Jane reached across the table and touched his arm. "It'll be all right," she whispered. They finished their food quickly and headed back to the prison, hoping to find that a decision was made. They were instructed to go to a conference room, and a clerk led the way. Hamilton was waiting for them. He didn't look happy, but that didn't surprise any of them. "I am not a happy camper here, people," he opened, and Marty had to look down. She knew if she looked at Jane she'd start laughing. Perhaps this was how diabetics felt when their blood sugar was too low. "Brackett is a convicted felon. I don't like the idea of him running around loose again." "And you think we do?" Simon asked heatedly. "I don't like it any more than you do, Hamilton. But he's the key to getting Sandburg and Gnosovelich. We want Sandburg, you want Gnosovelich. I think it just might be worth it." Hamilton stared hard at Simon. "And for the record, I don't like being threatened. By anyone." He and Simon locked gazes for a long moment, the visual equivalent of a handshake strength test. To Marty's surprise, Hamilton broke it first. "However, my superiors at the Justice Department have ruled that -- for now -- Brackett's requests will be granted. However, he will not be remanded into Ellison's custody. The FBI's A.D. in Cascade, Ellie Kirby, will have custody, and that is non-negotiable." "Why are you telling us, then?" Jim asked quietly. "Where's Brackett?" "He's still insisting that he be released to you, Ellison," Hamilton said sourly. "He's agreed to a conditional reduction of his sentence -- depending on the outcome of this case -- but not the other. Unless you can convince him to take our offer, we are back to square one." Jim clenched his jaw. "All right. Let me see him." It took every ounce of will-power Jim had to follow the guard back into the bowels of the prison. He had his hearing turned down almost as far as it could go, but he still could pick up the distressing sounds he remembered from his time in Starkeville -- magnified a hundred times in this dismal forest of iron and steel. The guard led him to one of the thousands of cells and banged on the door with his baton. After a moment, Brackett's face appeared in the small, barred window of the door. "Well, hello there, Jimbo. Slumming?" "Take the offer, Brackett," Jim said tightly. Brackett clucked at him. "But, Jimmy. I was so looking forward to working directly under you. I don't even know who this Kirby person is." Jim slammed his hands up against the iron door and threw his face right up against Brackett's. "Take the fucking offer, you piss-poor excuse for a human being," he snarled, aware of but ignoring the fact that the guard was speaking and trying to pry him away from the door. "You want a piece of me, fine. I want a piece of you too. But this is the only way we're going to come close enough to get what we want. Take. The. Offer." They stared at each other for a long moment, then Jim let the guard drag him back without breaking eye-contact with Brackett. "All right," Brackett finally said, quietly. "All right." As Jim turned to go, he added, very, very softly, "You're mine, Ellison." Jim paused and turned back, giving Brackett his best feral smile. "Come and get me, Brackett," he said. It was a long way back to Cascade. Jim had a pounding headache and a sour feeling in his stomach, but he didn't let on to Jane, knowing she would only worry. Instead, he sat quietly near the window -- first in the van and later in the plane -- and let himself partially zone on the passing scenery. Brackett would be transported to Cascade the next day. They'd had a conference call with Kirby, who had made clear her displeasure over the situation but who would, Jim was certain, suck it up and deal. In his brief contact with her, he saw in her the same kind of obsession he carried himself -- if there was a way to solve the problem, any way at all, she would take it. What bothered him, however, was the fact that finding Sandburg was not her top priority. From the bio he had read on Gnosovelich, Jim realized that the man had to be heading many, many 'most wanted' lists, and Kirby had to want him bad. Did she want him badly enough to sacrifice Blair? Jim couldn't be sure, and that made him crazy. By the time they all made it back to the loft, it was approaching midnight and they were all ready to collapse. Simon stayed long enough to ensure the guard was still there on the loft, then left for home. Jim once again pushed for Marty and Jane to take the big bed, saying he was too tired to change the sheets anyway, and the futon was enough for him. They gave him no grief over it, and that's how he knew how tired they were. It had to be rough on them, to be jet lagged and yet dragged all over creation and still expected to work. He slipped on a pair of sweatpants and crawled into bed shortly after everyone else, but either his own brain or Brown's snoring on the camp cot next to him kept him awake. He finally rose and after pacing quietly, found himself standing at his usual spot by the windows, watching the rain sluice down and allowing his mind and senses to drift. Where was Blair? Was he all right? Gnosovelich's bio terrified him; the man was beyond a monster, he made Brackett almost look like an Eagle scout. There was an ache in Jim's belly that only the presence of his Guide and lover could fill, and he wasn't sure he could live with it. A step behind him made him turn to see Marty coming down the stairs, pulling her robe on. "I woke you," he whispered, barely speaking aloud. She shook her head and smiled. "No," she replied, almost sub-vocally, "I was having problems sleeping anyway. Jane is a bed hog." Jim called up a smile from somewhere and turned back to the window. "I could make tea," Marty began, but Jim quickly shook his head. "Not on my account," he said. It was eerie, to speak to another Sentinel like this, to have a conversation that no one else could possibly hear. Eerie and kind of nice. "I'm afraid..." he began, then stopped. That was probably enough, actually. "I know." Marty rubbed his arm soothingly. "I am too. This bugger isn't very nice, is he?" Jim shook his head and looked down at his bare feet, while Marty continued. "Once Brackett arrives, I have a feeling things might start moving very quickly." "Yeah, me too," Jim sighed. "Marty... the amulet..." "It's a very clever hiding place, Jamie," she said with a smile, and he gave her a genuine smile back. He knew it would only be evident to another sentinel. "I can guess what you're about to say, and I will," she continued. "But let's not give up all our options yet, shall we?" Jim took a breath to speak -- then stopped, frowning. When he did finally speak, it was different words that he had originally intended. "You know... we have other options as well." Marty looked at him curiously, nodding for him to continue. "One of those is that... well, even though Gnosovelich apparently knows about me... he doesn't know about you." She frowned at him for several moments before slowly beginning to smile. It wasn't a very nice smile, either. Saturdays at Major Crime weren't usually quite this busy, Simon reflected, although there had been the occasional time when a 24/7 week was normal. And this was shaping up into one... with the Feds and the Spooks and flunkies from the Justice Department and Federal Marshals... God. The day didn't start out well, either, with Kirby and Ellison in a shouting match. Although he broke it up and made Jim sit down and relax, Simon couldn't find it in his heart to discipline the man. Kirby was throwing her weight around -- for all she couldn't be more than 100 pounds soaking wet -- and it drove Simon as crazy as it drove Ellison. Without Blair around as a buffer... Simon let that thought drift away. It wouldn't do any good to dwell on that subject. Brackett was 'delivered' early on and watched the show around him with something approaching glee. The posturing between departments meant that by the time anyone sat down with him to get his story, it was past lunch time, although food was far from anyone's mind. The biggest problem was that damned amulet. Kirby couldn't seem to believe that Gnosovelich was merely after a chunk of gold and not something more nefarious. "Trust me, Ellie," Brackett told her, smirking -- he learned quickly that it drove her crazy when he used her first name -- "that chunk of gold is worth its weight in -- well, gold -- to our boy Teddy. He's got two pieces, apparently, and he wants the last two." "But that's ridiculous," Kirby fumed. "He'd risk his entire operation for that? Why?" Brackett shrugged, but his eyes never left Ellison's. "Who knows? He's a psychopath. I wouldn't even pretend to understand someone who's as obsessed as all that." Simon watched as Jim clenched his hands into fists. "He's probably using a plan that he and I worked out years ago or something close to it," Brackett continued. "We'd talked about the amulet, about how to find the rest of it, and that's why he wants Ellison." Kirby smacked the table with her fist. "Why does it always come back to you, Ellison?" she asked, her voice low and dangerous. "There's something you aren't telling me." "Oh, I doubt that, Ellie," Brackett interjected smoothly. For once, Simon noted, he lost the mocking humor in his eyes. "Ellison here is just really, really good at what he does. I mean, look how he helped me when I crept in right under the Agency's radar and very nearly got that plane? By the way, has Congress ever approved the budget for that?" When glares were his only reply, he raised his manacled hands in protest. "Hey, just wondering, you know? Although I guess I can't say 'my tax dollars at work' any more, can I?" "Tell us about this plan, Brackett," Simon said, since no one else seemed willing to deal with the guy. Brackett smiled. "Well, then. Let's see what I recall." Brackett began talking, and he kept talking. It seemed he was only waiting for an opening before spilling, and once he began, no one could get him to shut up. Gnosovelich was in Cascade, of that he was certain. "He probably wasn't, though, until recently," Brackett affirmed. "He uses hired muscle a lot. He's got a lot more trust in people than I do, really." There wasn't any comment about that, something Simon was grateful for. Brackett's other claim -- that they'd hear from Gnosovelich again at any moment -- was borne out when a small package arrived for Ellison by courier. It was way too small for a bomb, although Kirby wanted to treat it as such. But Simon knew, from the expression on Jim's face, that it was something far more sinister. He pushed Jim down to a seat at his conference table and took the package from him, opening it carefully while wearing gloves. Inside was a long lock of dark, curly hair and a note: "Next time, it will be something he needs," a time -- six o'clock p.m. PST -- and a Yahoo email address. Simon was very grateful for the presence of Jane and Marty at that point, for he felt nearly as bad as Jim obviously did and wouldn't have been able to help him out of a zone. Ellison's face was dead white. Kirby began cussing. The courier company was, of course, a dead end. Forensics went over the package carefully, but all they could say was it was definitely human hair. Sandburg's DNA was on file -- from numerous injuries -- but it would take several hours to do a match. They didn't have several hours -- they had three. With help from Jane, Ellison pulled himself together and stood, turning without a word toward his desk in the bullpen. While Kirby began haranguing Brackett for more information, Simon watched as Jim sat at his desk and fired up his computer. He knew in his gut what was going to happen but tried to deny it -- after all, Marty and Jane were with him. They wouldn't let him get into any trouble. Wouldn't let him do anything stupid. But the next time Simon turned to ask Jim something, about an hour later, he found Jim -- and Marty and Jane -- gone.