Disclaimer: Pet Fly and Paramount own the copyright to The Sentinel and its characters. This piece of fan fiction was written solely for the love of the characters and to share freely with other fans. No profit is being made from the posting of this story.

Moonridge Auction Story: This story was offered to the 2006 Moonridge charity auction and won by Debbie Tripp, who asked me to write the story based on "Rogue" with Brackett as a Guide. This story is dedicated to her with many thanks for her generous contribution to Moonridge on this story's behalf.

Acknowledgments: To my intrepid betas, Bobbie and Chibi-Ichi, my many and undying thanks. Any mistakes left in the story are purely my own. I also must give credit for the bulk of the "episode" part of this story to Howard Chaykin, who wrote "Rogue," and to the team of PetFly and Paramount who own the copyright to the script. I have lifted much of the story and dialogue intact, although a number of things had to be changed in order to suit this AU. Mr. Chaykin deserves the credit for these scenes, despite my mangling of them. Also, a nod of sincere thanks to Becky, whose transcripts I relied heavily upon to write this story.

Additional Note: "Sonquolly" is Quechua for "my beloved."

Rating: NC-17

Summary: There is a rogue Guide in town, and he has his sights set on Jim.

Sequel to: "Chosen," "Flight," "Second Chance," "Survival," and "Siege."

Jim pushed open the door to #307 and he and Blair stumbled inside, arms and legs tangled about one another, their mouths locked in a passionate kiss. He kicked the door shut and pressed Blair against it, his fingers fumbling the buttons of his Guide's shirt. Frustrated, he ripped the shirt open, buttons popping off to land with a soft bounce on the hardwood floor. He brushed his hands over the smooth expanse of his Guide's tanned chest, thumbs teasing the dark brown nipples to hardness as Blair moaned against his lips.

"Oh, God, Jim!" Blair's own fingers were busy with the buttons on his Sentinel's shirt, while Jim unbuckled Blair's belt and freed his bronzed cock, stroking the erect organ with a firm hand. "You're killing me, man!"

Jim dropped to his knees, pulling Blair's pants down to his ankles and licking the pearl of precome from the glans before taking the penis into his mouth and throat. Blair's hips bucked between Jim's steadying hands as the Sentinel applied suction, drawing a quick orgasm from his mate.

"Jiiiiiim..." Blair moaned his lover's name as his knees gave out and his back slid down the door until he was sitting on the floor with his shirt hanging from his shoulders and his pants around his ankles, looking totally debauched, a small grin curving the corners of his mouth.

"Welcome home, Sonquolly." Jim reached down to give Blair a hand up, smiling as his Guide shed the remnants of his clothes in the process.

"I love it when you call me that," Blair said, rising up on his toes to kiss Jim's temple.

Jim caressed Blair's cheek with his hand, smoothing his thumb over the full lips before brushing the long hair away from the precious face. "You are, and always will be, my beloved," he whispered, raising a blush from beneath the tanned skin of his lover.

Blair's embarrassment at the sentiment lasted only a heartbeat. Licking his lips, he took Jim's hand and led the Sentinel toward the stairs to the loft bedroom. "I owe you one," he said, bounding up the stairs and crawling onto the bed. On hands and knees, he presented his backside, wiggling his ass provocatively. "Come and get me, lover."

Jim felt his mouth go dry at the sight before him. His hard cock throbbed with need, aching to be released as he fumbled at his pants with numb fingers. Blair's hole was slightly dilated and leaking a natural lubricant common to those with the Guide genes; his body had needed no preparation since the day their bonding had been complete. Climbing onto the bed, Jim grasped the bronzed hips and thrust into the waiting body, drawing out a keening wail of need and delight from his mate.

The bonding was swift and hard, since both Sentinel and Guide had been celibate for the last twenty-four hours during their trip home from their honeymoon in Samoa. Jim's final thrust was punctuated by the ringing of the telephone.

"Don't answer it," Blair murmured, as he collapsed under the weight of his lover.

Jim glanced at the nightstand and the caller ID box next to the phone. "Have to," he mumbled. "It's Simon."

"Tell him to go fuck himself," Blair grumbled. "We still have five days left on our honeymoon."

Still buried deeply in his Guide's body, Jim reached over for the handset. "Hey, Simon," he greeted their boss. "Blair says for you to go fuck yourself, we still have five days of vacation left."

"Jim," Simon's voice was serious as he ignored the rude comment, "I wouldn't have called if it wasn't important. A container of the Ebola virus was stolen from a research lab at Rainier this morning. I need you and Blair here as quickly as possible."

"On our way, sir." Jim hung up the phone and eased himself up off the sweat-slicked body of his Guide. "Simon's got a real emergency. Let's move."

A half an hour later, Jim and Blair stood in Simon's office opposite an attractive young woman with a bandaged forehead.

"Jim, Blair, meet Dr. Sonia Price of the Centers for Disease Control. She was preparing to move the vial of Ebola back to the CDC when she was attacked and the virus stolen," Simon explained.

"How could someone get through campus security around the research facility?" Blair asked. "They run a pretty tight ship over there, considering the lethal toxins and viruses that they work with."

"Someone planted a smoke bomb in one of the lecture halls as a diversion," Dr. Price explained. "It looked like a terrorist attack, and campus security was diverted to Hargrove Hall to make sure everyone was evacuated safely." She reached up to lightly touch the bandage on her forehead. "In the meantime, a man dressed as a bicycle deliveryman came into the research facility, knocked me out, and took the canister of the virus."

"What was the Ebola virus doing in Cascade in the first place?" Jim asked.

"It was transported here by ship from the Sudan," Price explained. "I came in this morning from our lab to take it back to Atlanta." She paused and looked at each man in turn. "If this virus is released into the air, we're looking at a death toll in the thousands." She picked up a remote control and pressed the "play" button. A video began showing rows of bodies - victims of Ebola in Africa. "This particular mutation has already wiped out several villages. The fatality rate of this strain is 99%."

Simon watched the video, his gut clenching at the sight of the victims. "So you expect us to shut down Cascade?" he asked. "All the highways, airports, and waterways?"

"And then we bring in the military," Price confirmed, "to start the quarantine procedures."

"Hold up a minute," Jim said, raising a hand to stop the doctor's pronouncement. "Quarantining a village is one thing, but zipping up a city the size of Cascade..."

"We're not talking about the flu here," countered Price. "We're talking about a virus that turns human beings into blood pudding. Ebola is airborne. If the virus is released and we don't have quarantine procedures in place, there's no telling how far this could spread. We could be looking at death tolls in the thousands, maybe tens of thousands."

Blair shook his head, clearly shaken by the video and the news. "Man, Ebola is like the plague on steroids! We've got to do something."

"I agree," said Simon. "But initiating a quarantine of the city will just as likely set off a panic, which is almost as big a disaster. There's got to be another alternative."

"Simon's right," Blair agreed. "For all we know, this guy could be a hundred miles away from here by now. There's no evidence that he's even still in Cascade."

"Give us twenty-four hours to nail this guy," Jim requested. "If we haven't gotten him by then, or have proof that he's left the area, we can consider the quarantine then."

"That's totally against procedures," Price argued. "We can't take the risk!"

"Doctor," Jim said, trying to remain calm, "the guy who took this is no amateur. He's not going to go accidentally releasing the virus. I can guarantee you that we'll be hearing from him... soon. He wants something."

Their attention was momentarily distracted from the argument as Joel Taggart, the bomb squad Captain, and Carolyn Plummer, from Forensics, entered the office.

Joel extended his hand toward Simon, a small object held in his fingers. "Here's the trigger from the tear gas found in the lecture hall. Whoever planted it went to a lot of trouble to keep it from being found.

"It's a mini-transmitter," Carolyn added.

"And there was a white-noise generator to mask the sound of the timer, in case there were any Sentinels in the hall," Joel said.

"Which he then buried in the lecture hall windowsill under plaster and a fresh coat of paint," Carolyn continued.

"He was expecting a security sweep by Sentinels," Blair said. "The white noise generator is a dead giveaway."

Carolyn nodded. "I'll see what I can come up with."

"Thank you. Good work," said Jim as Joel and Carolyn exited the office.

Jim turned back to Dr. Price. "Look, Doctor... I've seen triggers like that before. I was a military liaison to the CIA's counterinsurgency unit. This guy is nobody to fool around with."

"All right," Price said, conceding for the moment. "I'll lay off for twenty-four hours. But if you haven't found this guy by then, I will notify my people and start putting emergency procedures into action to seal off the city."

"Agreed," Jim said with a brisk nod. "Let's go." Putting a hand to the small of Blair's back, he ushered his Guide from the office.

Jim opened the door to the loft and was confronted by a gun pointed in his face.

"Just take it easy, Detective," the man warned when he saw Jim's hand twitch toward his weapon. "Just step on inside. You too, Guide," he sneered at Blair.

The two men walked cautiously into the apartment, their hands raised.

"Both of you keep your hands where I can see them," the man ordered. "Guide, you will take Sentinel Ellison's weapon and give it to me."

Jim nodded at Blair, and the younger man lifted the gun from his Sentinel's shoulder holster, handing it over to the intruder. "Just who the hell are you?" Jim asked when the transfer was complete.

"My name's Lee Brackett, and I have the virus you're looking for," Brackett said. "Aren't you curious as to why I took it?"

"I sure as hell am," Blair growled, sensing a rival Guide. He moved closer to Jim, wrapping a possessive arm around the Sentinel's waist. "So, why'd you take it?"

"Because I need a Sentinel to help me commit a crime," Brackett said with a leering grin. "You'll be famous," he said, turning to Jim. "But we don't need him." He cocked his gun toward Blair.

"If you want my cooperation, you won't harm my Guide," Jim said.

"I can guide you, if need be," Brackett said. "But I suspect that a highly trained military man like you has enough control over his senses to do a simple job for me without his Guide."

"No way, Brackett," Jim insisted. "If you expect my cooperation, we come as a package deal."

"Have it your way," Brackett said with a shrug. "So, do I have your cooperation?"

"You've got to be kidding, right?" Jim sneered.

Brackett seemed to consider the question briefly, and replied casually, "You'd really allow thousands of innocent people to die for your pride?"

"My pride?" Jim chuckled. "You're way off the mark, Brackett. Why do I think you're bluffing?"

"Yes, why do you think I'm bluffing? Consider it carefully, Ellison."

Jim nodded. "That transmitter you used at the university was pure CIA. But whatever this is, it can't be a sanctioned op, so you must be rogue."

"A very astute observation," Brackett tacitly agreed.

Jim was beginning to get angry over the cat and mouse game that Brackett was playing. His jaw twitched with tension as he asked the obvious question, "So, what is it that you have in mind?"

"I want you to steal something for me," Brackett explained easily. "I'm going to have need of your Sentinel senses to get past some rather sophisticated security features."

"So you think you can blackmail us into doing this for you?" Jim asked.

"Not him," Brackett said again, pointing to Blair. "You. You're going to do this for me, because otherwise, I'll blow the explosive charge on the Ebola canister and release the virus. Think about it. Thousands will be dead within a week. More from the tourists who will carry it out of the city and spread it across the country. Is that something you want to risk?"

Blair had been inching behind Jim as Brackett spoke. He was now near enough to the lamp cord to hook his toe around it and pull the plug from the wall. The room was plunged into darkness, giving Jim an advantage over his opponent. He struggled with Brackett, fighting to subdue the man, but Brackett broke free.

Reaching into a jacket pocket, Brackett pulled out a small bundle and tossed it to Jim. "Catch."

Jim caught the package and began to carefully open it, revealing an LED timer that was rapidly counting down to zero.

"You've got a choice now, hotshot," Brackett said with a grin. "You can chase after me, or you can save your neighborhood from instant urban renewal. Good luck!" With a wave of his hand, Brackett walked out the front door, flipping on the main light switch as he went.

Blair barely gave Brackett a glance as he left. Looking over Jim's shoulder, he watched tensely as the Sentinel turned the bomb in his hand, finally pulling a wire to disarm it with mere seconds to go on the timer.

Jim then did something totally unexpected. He lifted the block of C4 to his nose and gave it a sniff before dropping it on the table.

"What's the matter, Jim? What is it?"

"Check it out." Jim waved at the disarmed bomb.

Blair cautiously picked it up and raised it to his nose, sniffing as Jim had done. "Jim, this is Wacky Dough! How could you not tell it was a fake?"

Jim shook his head, chagrined. "I don't know. I was concentrating so hard on getting it disarmed, I... I just couldn't smell it."

"That Brackett is a real nut job," Blair complained. "And worse, he's a Guide - an unattached Guide! Jim, man, I think he wants you for more than just this job."

"I get the same feeling," Jim acknowledged. "But he's not getting me away from you," he said, pulling Blair into his arms. "I don't want another Guide. We're bonded and he can't take that away from us."

"We're more than bonded," Blair reminded his Sentinel. "We're one soul now. If one of us dies, the other will follow."

"I know that if anything were to ever happen to you, I'd eat my gun," Jim said grimly. "I'm not ever having another Guide. You're my whole life."

"That's just it, Jim," Blair said. "That last bond on Nu'utele Island, the primal bond... I am your whole life, and you are mine. If I die, you won't need your gun. You'll die with me, and vice versa."

"Fine with me," Jim said, crushing Blair to his chest and kissing him with rough passion. His hips arched into the muscular body that he held, grinding their erections together until their ardor erupted into duel orgasms, claiming them both simultaneously. "We just have to make damn sure..." Jim said, gasping for breath as they sank to the floor, their legs turned to jelly after the explosive climax, "that Brackett doesn't get the chance to test that little theory."

The next morning, Jim sat at his desk alone trying to run down leads through computer records. Blair had asked to be dropped off at the university with the vague excuse that he'd explain it all to Jim later. Jim hoped that he would. They were rapidly running out of time. He was well aware of the twenty-four hour window Dr. Price had granted them.

A familiar heartbeat made the Sentinel look up. Blair had just entered the bullpen, followed by a bespectacled man in a wheelchair.

"Hey, Jim! I'd like for you to meet Jack Kelso. He teaches foreign affairs over at Rainier."

"Nice to meet you," Jim said, reaching out to shake Kelso's hand. "I've been a fan ever since your book blew the whistle on the Agency last year."

"Really?" Kelso looked surprised. "I didn't think I had that many fans in law enforcement."

"I brought Jack in to help with the CIA thing," Blair explained.

"So you knew Brackett," Jim said, listening to Kelso's steady heartbeat. "What can you tell me about him?"

Kelso shook his head. "Brackett was coming in just as I was going out," he explained. "But everyone knew about him. He had quite a reputation as a throwback."

"A throwback? What, exactly, do you mean by that?" Jim asked.

"We old-timers used to call the job we did 'the show'," Kelso explained. "It attracted all kinds of marginal types - actors, grandstanders, psychos, extremists. Brackett was recruited by the Agency right out of Yale. He had just the right combination of guts, brains, stamina, and complete amorality."

"The perfect covert operations officer," Jim interjected.

"Oh, absolutely," Kelso agreed. "He was notorious for creating complex game plans that made it nearly impossible for the other side to catch up with him. And then, in the late '80s, he went into business for himself. He sold an urban warfare scenario to what he thought was a Puerto Rican nationalist. The guy turned out to be an FBI agent. Brackett smelled a rat, killed the guy, and went underground."

"Until now," Jim said grimly.

Kelso nodded. "I had a feeling this wasn't an entirely academic discussion. I don't suppose you can tell me what's going on?"

"Sorry." Jim shook his head.

Kelso shrugged. "I didn't expect that you would. Don't worry about it. I already know more than I want to." He lifted a heavy file book from his lap and passed it across the desk to Jim. "While I was doing research for my book, I compiled these profiles from the Agency's database. It includes some of the more notorious agents - Brackett included. I thought it might be useful."

"I'm sure it will," Jim said, thumbing through the pages. "Looks pretty damn complete."

"It's all there," Kelso confirmed, "personal data, modus operandi, patterns of behavior. The whole nine yards."

"I really appreciate this, Mr. Kelso," Jim said, with all due sincerity.

"Don't thank me," Kelso said, turning his chair around as he prepared to leave. "Brackett's a treacherous bastard. I hate seeing him loose in my town." With that final pronouncement, Kelso wheeled his way out of the bullpen.

"I'm going to take this home to study," Jim said, picking up the book and standing. "Fewer distractions there. Coming?"

Blair hurried to follow, as Jim's long strides took him to the elevator outside the squad room.

Blair and Jim stood across from one another at the kitchen island, Jim pouring over the book in front of him.

"Anything useful?" Blair asked, fidgeting, wanting to reach out and turn the pages for himself.

"I don't know," Jim said, his nose still firmly planted in the book. "It's hard to tell, when we don't know what Brackett has in mind."

"Maybe the answer is right here," Blair said. "Under our noses."

"What do you mean?" Jim asked.

"Well, you've taught me that the way to find a guy is to figure out where he's from, where he's been," Blair explained. "Maybe he left some clue behind."

"Forensics has been over this place with a fine tooth comb," Jim reminded his partner. "They didn't find anything."

"They're not Sentinels," Blair pointed out. "Use your senses. See if you can find the clue the Forensic guys missed."

"I wouldn't even know where to begin," Jim said, shaking his head in frustration.

"Start by taking a deep breath," Blair suggested. "Take in the scents of the room. Try to determine if there's anything out of place."

Jim nodded and began slowly walking around the room, taking in deep breaths as he scanned with both smell and sight. After a few minutes, he squatted to the floor. "Hey, Chief, hand me your Swiss army knife, would you?"

"Did you find something?" Blair asked, handing over the requested instrument.

Jim used the tweezers to pick a piece of toothpick from between the floorboards. He brought the small item to his nose, sniffing, and then his tongue flicked out, tasting it.

"Oh God, Jim! You don't know where that's been!" Blair protested. A moment later, his curiosity got the better of him. "What is it? Can you tell?"

"Chili pepper," Jim said. "Kelso's book said Brackett had a real jones for South American food, right?" Blair nodded. "He must have tracked this in on his shoes. The mud on it has a metallic taste. It isn't much, but it could tell us where he's been."

The ringing of the phone interrupted them. Jim dropped the toothpick into an evidence bag and handed it to Blair. "Yeah, right. Be there in five minutes," Jim said, hanging up the phone. "There's been a gas attack over at the museum. You get that over to Forensics. Have them run every test on it that they can think of. Come on, we've got to hurry."

Jim and Dr. Price donned blue HazMat suits and entered the eerily quiet museum. Bodies were scattered everywhere, some sitting, some lying on the floor.

"Oh my God," Price groaned, looking at the results of the attack. "And you asked me for twenty-four hours. I never should have listened to you. This is my worst nightmare."

Jim raised a hand to quiet her. "Shhh, please." He concentrated, hearing faint, slow heartbeats. First one, and then another and another until a muted cacophony assailed his ears.

"What? All these people are dead and you want a little quiet?" Price was shocked and dismayed.

"They're not dead," Jim corrected her. "They're asleep."

Price knelt next to one of the bodies and reached out to check for a pulse. "You're right," she agreed. "The gas must have been some form of anesthesia. Far from harmless, but certainly not deadly."

They both took off their HazMat headgear, leaving the oxygen masks in place.

Jim's hearing picked up another heartbeat. This one was faster and didn't belong to anyone in the search group. "Brackett is here," he told Price. Removing the rest of the HazMat suit, Jim made his way up the stairs, following the sound of the telltale heart. He spotted the gas canister and turned off the spigot, stopping the flow of anesthetic gas. Grabbing the gun from his ankle holster, Jim approached a pile of bodies.

Brackett sat up suddenly, pushing a sleeping man from on top of him and removing his gas mask. "I hope you get the point, Ellison! This time it was just a little sleeping gas. Next time, it'll be the virus," he warned, taking off with Jim in pursuit.

Brackett led Jim through the museum, ending on the balcony. He stooped, picking up a semi-conscious woman and holding her as a shield. "Come any closer and I'll snap her neck," he threatened as Jim froze, his gun pointed at Brackett.

"Let her go," Jim demanded, "and we'll talk."

"No talk, Ellison," Brackett said. "This was just a demonstration. You do what I want, or the next time this happens, nobody will wake up." He dropped the woman on the balcony rail, leaving her teetering over the auditorium.

Jim dashed to the woman's side, catching her just as she fell, nearly pulling himself over the balcony with her. Gaining his balance, Jim pulled the woman back to safety, only to find his quarry had escaped.

Jim and Blair sat in Simon's office with Dr. Price and Carolyn Plummer, discussing the current crisis.

"He wants me to use my Sentinel abilities to help him commit a crime," Jim explained. "He stole the virus to use as a form of blackmail."

Price shook her head. "We have to contact the military and put emergency procedures into place, now! I shouldn't have listened to you, Detective Ellison. Now see where this has gotten us?"

"Quarantining the city won't do us a bit of good," Simon said, "and might well create a panic. That's something we don't need."

"We have to assume that as long as Brackett thinks there's a chance you might help him, he won't release the virus," Carolyn chimed in.

"That's the bottom line," Blair said grimly. "Jim and I have to play along; pretend to do what Brackett wants. It's the only way to get the Ebola canister back."

"At least until we know what he wants to steal," Simon added. "At that time, we can take him down."

"You've already lost him twice," Price said, exasperated with the police. "And you still haven't got a clue as to where the virus is hidden."

"Lieutenant Plummer from Forensics has been working on that," Simon said. "What can you tell us, Carolyn?"

"We've analyzed what Jim found in his apartment," Carolyn said. "There were traces of chilies and cumin on the toothpick."

"What about the metallic taste in the mud?" Blair asked.

Carolyn glanced his way and smiled grimly. "There were minute traces of iron oxide in the mud," she confirmed.

"We know that Brackett likes South American food," Jim explained. "Carolyn, start checking for South American restaurants near areas of highly concentrated iron oxide," he directed.

"Good idea," Carolyn agreed. "I'll get right on it. And while you and Blair keep Brackett busy, I can figure out where he lives."

"And hopefully, the canister of Ebola will be there," Simon concluded.

The office's intercom crackled to life. "There's a call for you on line one, Captain Banks," came Rhonda's voice.

Simon answered the phone and then handed it to Jim. "It's Brackett. He wants to talk to you."

"Right. We'll be there," Jim said after a few moments, hanging up and turning to Simon. "He's given us an address - the La Cueva, on the outskirts of the city."

Carolyn pulled out a plastic box with two small items inside that looked a bit like breath mints. "You'll need these transmitters," she explained, handing the box to Jim.

"Transmitters?" Jim said, doubtfully. "Brackett's a pro. He isn't going to fall for a transmitter."

"He will for these," Carolyn said with certainty. "These are top-of-the-line, state-of-the-art. There is no metal, no plastic, no ceramics involved. It's made from a protein compound indistinguishable from human flesh by any scanning device."

"How does it work?" Blair asked, intrigued by the small item.

"It's a piezoelectric crystal, like they use in old phonograph needles to pick up sound," Carolyn explained.

"So it's not a radio transmitter?" Jim asked.

"Right," Carolyn confirmed. "It's like a beacon or a homing device. It translates vibrations into sound waves with no moving parts. No power source. You put it between your cheek and your back teeth. It's completely invisible."

"And we'll be able to track every move you make," Simon added.

"Good," said Blair, looking relieved.

Jim and Blair pulled up in front of the Peruvian restaurant.

"That would explain the chilies and cumin," Blair said, as they got out of the truck.

"Our wires are active," said Jim. "We just have to keep Brackett talking as long as possible."

"Yeah, like that's going to be a problem," Blair snorted.

They entered the café and were met by a waiter. "Buenos dias."

Brushing past the man, they headed over to the table where Brackett sat, waiting for them. "Welcome, gentlemen," Brackett said with an easy grin. "So I guess all that stuff about not being blackmailed was just tough talk, huh, Ellison?"

Jim wisely didn't answer. "Cut the small talk, Brackett. What is it that you want?"

"If you two have any ideas about taking me out, forget it," Brackett told them. "That detonator I've got wired to the virus is on a timer and the clock is ticking. Now, we've got some unfinished business. Empty your pockets on the table... everything." He watched as Jim and Blair tossed keys, coins, and wallets in front of him.

"I'm not giving up my shield," Jim said, holding out the leather wallet with his badge and ID. Brackett gave the item a quick scan and nodded. Jim put the wallet back into his pocket.

Using his scanner, Brackett went over the items on the table, and then ran the black box up and down both men. "Now, for the obvious things that I'm supposed to find," he said, grabbing the native bead necklace around Blair's neck and yanking it free. "I hope you didn't let them rig something valuable with a mini-transmitter." Brackett dropped the necklace to the floor.

"It's a replica," Blair said, grimacing as Brackett ground the glass and shell beads into dust with his heel.

"I'll take the wire in Ellison's pants now," Brackett said, turning to Blair. "You can get it out for me, Guide." He watched with wolfish pleasure as Blair reached down Jim's pants for the transmitter. Jim flushed as Blair's hand accidentally brushed his growing erection, shuddering slightly as Blair pulled out. "Thanks," Brackett said. "Just drop it." He smashed the wire as he had the necklace.

Next, he ran the scanner over their cheeks. "All right, I'll take the protein transmitters, too." He paused, gauging their reaction. "Look, don't waste my time or yours. That molecular protein transmitter may be new to the cops, but it's been on the covert black market ever since the Russians stole it. And this scanner makes it obsolete."

Jim and Blair both removed the transmitters from their mouths and dropped them into Brackett's open palm. "All right, enough of the games. The virus canister will explode in two hours unless I stop it, so we'd better get a move on. Do as you're told, and you won't have thousands of deaths on your conscience."

"My conscience?" Jim muttered as they turned to walk out with Brackett.

"Well, certainly not mine," Brackett said glibly. He tossed the keys to Blair. "You drive, Guide. And remember, the clock is ticking."

"They found the protein transmitters in a Peruvian restaurant on Balleyette Street," Carolyn explained to Captain Banks and Dr. Price.

"Oh, that's just great," said Simon, his voice oozing with frustrated sarcasm. "So you're telling me that your virtually undetectable wire is a worthless piece of junk."

"Yes," Carolyn agreed glumly. "But I think I've narrowed Brackett's block down to two possibilities."

"I'm listening," Simon growled.

"Well, I figured the iron ore meant a foundry or a smelting plant," she explained.

Price nodded. "Ah, so when you start looking for sources of iron ore within the vicinity of South American restaurants, your search area becomes narrower."

"Exactly." Carolyn nodded. "We cross-indexed South American restaurants with sources of iron ore and came up with two Latino neighborhoods. One is around the corner from the Windermere Plating Factory. The other is a block away from the Westside Waste Treatment Plant. The iron oxide that Ellison found in his apartment could have come from either source."

Simon nodded in grim agreement. "This better be good. I'm going to order a house-by-house search."

Following Brackett's directions, Blair pulled the car up outside a restricted army facility, stopping at the checkpoint.

"What are we doing here?" Jim asked testily.

Brackett chuckled and patted Jim's shoulder. "As long as you're in the dark about this mission, I'm one step ahead of you."

The guard on duty stepped out of his building and approached the car. "Can I see some identification, gentlemen?" he asked.

Blair looked worried, glancing over his shoulder at Brackett, who sat in the back seat pointing a gun at the guard.

Making a split-second decision, Jim opened his car door - hard - into the waiting guard, knocking the man off his feet. Getting out of the vehicle, Jim knocked the guard out with a single, swift punch and then stood between his victim and Brackett. "There'll be no killing on my watch," he growled.

"Not this time," Brackett agreed. Then, waving the gun at Blair, he ordered, "Get out and help Ellison get the guy into the guardhouse."

Blair got out and took the man's feet, while Jim lifted the shoulders. They deposited the guard safely in the small shed and returned to stand in front of Brackett.

"Is this one of your 'overthrow the government' scenarios?" Jim asked, wiping his hands on his pants.

"Someone's been reading my file," Brackett said with a measure of respect. "No matter. This way, gentlemen." He led the way through the gate and over to a bridge with a checkerboard of black and red squares going across it.

"It's a grid of electrically triggered mines, surrounded by a charged fence," Brackett explained. "They change the pattern on the grid every twenty-four hours. Your Sentinel abilities are the only way to get across without a map. I figure that you should be able to tell the difference between the dormant and the active mines. There's only one way in, and one way out. I'm sure it's unnecessary to remind you that unless I'm alive to disarm the bomb, the virus blows."

"Damn you, Brackett," Jim growled between clenched teeth. "Just get out of my way and let me do this."

Blair approached and put one hand on Jim's shoulder, the other on his arm. "You can do this, Jim. Listen for the hum of electrical activity."

Jim concentrated on the bridge and began to step carefully across the tiles, pausing after each step to determine the next safe tile. Blair began to follow, but was pulled aside by Brackett.

"I'll go next," Brackett said. "You follow behind me."

"But Jim may need me."

"Ellison doesn't need you as much as you think he does," Brackett sneered. "Now get behind me. If Ellison needs anything, I can help him." He shoved Blair behind him and began to follow Jim carefully across the bridge.

Jim's concentration was complete. So complete that he froze about halfway across the bridge, balanced on one foot, teetering toward the next tile.

Brackett stopped one step behind and grumbled, "Get on with it, Ellison. Stop playing games."

"He's not playing games," Blair said from behind Brackett. "He's in a zone-out. It happens sometimes when a Sentinel is concentrating all his energy on one sense. He needs help - now - or we're screwed."

Brackett continued to stand behind Jim, doing nothing. He shook his head and shrugged. "So, what do we do?"

"You move out of my way," Blair said forcefully. "Move you foot. Move your foot!" he insisted. When Brackett lifted his foot from the tile, Blair took a step forward. "Now, you take a step back. Careful. You don't want to blow us sky high." Brackett hesitated, and then moved back a step, allowing Blair to take his place. Blair reached out, pulling Jim back against his body to steady him.

"Come on, Jim. Come out of this. It's okay; you're just concentrating too hard on your hearing. Feel my hands on your arms. Feel my strength supporting you, smell my scent." Blair's voice was a low, measured cadence with no sign of the fear he felt reflected in his tone or words. "Come on, Jim, breathe. That's it. We have to get across this bridge."

Slowly, Jim began to come out of the zone.

"Steady, man," Blair cautioned. "Watch your feet. Okay, okay." He breathed a bit easier when Jim settled both feet firmly on dormant tiles. Then he turned his wrath on Brackett. "You damn near got us killed! You know nothing about being a Guide! If any Sentinel was ever foolish enough to choose you as his Guide, he'd be dead within a week. What were you thinking? Now, stay out of my way and let me work." Dismissing Brackett, Blair turned his attention back to Jim. "Okay, Jim. Now, concentrate on the tiles, but not too much. That's good... good."

Jim managed to navigate the remainder of the bridge with ease, his Guide laying a steadying hand on his shoulder the rest of the way. As they reached the far end, Jim helped Blair jump the last few tiles to the safety of the concrete.

"So now what?" Jim asked, as Brackett opened the control box and made some quick adjustments.

"There," Brackett said with satisfaction. "Now the entire bridge is mined. There's no safe way across. You see that door?" he asked, indicating a door in the large hanger in front of them. "Move!"

As they approached the door, Blair noted the lighted combination lock. Brackett noticed the look. "That lock has a motion sensor. Any jiggling or undue motion will set off the alarm, so you'd better be careful and get it right." He stood back, this time letting Blair guide his Sentinel.

"All right," Blair said as they approached the lock. "I'd suggest you rely on your fingertips, your sense of touch, instead of your hearing. Let the tumblers tell your fingers what to do."

Jim nodded and set to work decoding the combination. One by one, the red LEDs turned green as each number was cracked, getting them closer to unlocking the door.

The police department's house-to-house search had been a qualified success. They'd located Brackett's house, with a bomb inside. As Joel began to diffuse it, a taped message from Brackett had come on the TV, stating that the bomb was a diversion and that they'd better vacate the premises. Joel and Carolyn barely made it out of the house before the explosives detonated, destroying the building and sending both of them flying.

Fortunately, there were no serious injuries, but the bomb squad captain was badly shaken.

Simon approached them, looking worried. "You two okay?"

"Yeah, we're fine, Simon," Carolyn answered, dusting herself off.

"What the hell happened in there?" Simon asked.

Joel shook his head. "It was a straight demolition charge."

"With no sign of the canister," Carolyn added.

"Where the hell is the virus?" Joel asked, upset that they hadn't been able to stop the threat.

"Where the hell is Jim?" Simon added with frustration.

The three men entered the hanger, and Jim and Blair saw Brackett's goal for the first time.

"Gentlemen, the newest weapon in our country's arsenal - the AVCX. The next generation in stealth fighter jets," Brackett explained.

"Jim, what is this place?" Blair asked, looking around in awe.

"It's a Company skunk works - a secret development lab for the CIA," said Jim.

"That's right," Brackett said, pleased that Jim caught on so quickly. "This is a one-of-a-kind prototype. Even Congress only suspects that it exists; the classified surveillance technology on board is priceless on the black market." He climbed into the pilot's seat of the jet and began to check out the instrumentation.

"The Air Force will be on your ass before you're out of local air space," Jim reminded him.

Brackett continued his pre-flight check. "I'll worry about that when it happens."

"What about the virus?" asked Jim.

"As soon as I'm airborne, I'll defuse the detonator and set off a beacon so that you can find it," Brackett said. "I've always been a man of my word, Ellison. Now, move the ladder."

As the hanger doors began to open, Blair moved the ladder away from the plane.

"Emergency security should be arriving any minute now," Brackett informed the Sentinel and Guide. "I'd be warning them not to cross the minefield, unless you want their families to start collecting death benefits."

"Get out and warn them!" Jim directed Blair.

"But we can't let him go!" Blair protested.

"Brackett got what he wanted and I'm through playing his games," Jim said. "He's not stupid enough to detonate that virus while he's still in range, so he's not going anywhere. Now, get going!"

Reluctantly, Blair exited the hanger. Soldiers were gathering on the far side of the bridge and Blair could hear their conversation.

"I've deactivated the minefield. It's all clear."

"We're on our way into the hanger now."

As the soldiers approached the bridge, Blair shouted, "Wait! Wait! Whoa! Stop, stop! Don't go there! The entire minefield is live!"

Seeing Blair as one of the intruders, the soldiers pulled their rifles and pointed them at the Guide. "On the ground, now!"

Blair dropped onto his stomach, but continued to shout at the men on the other side of the bridge. "Brackett's put an override on the system!" To prove his point, he removed a shoe and tossed it out onto the bridge. The resulting explosion stopped the soldiers from advancing.

"A security breach has overridden the system," a soldier said into his radio. "Roger that," he replied after a moment. "I'll eliminate it as fast as I can."

Inside the hanger, the fighter jet's radio crackled to life. "You are not cleared for takeoff. Abort your takeoff now."

Jim jumped onto the plane and pulled the emergency hatch release. Then, using his belt wrapped around Brackett's neck, he pulled the rogue agent out of the cockpit. They began to fight, rolling down onto a wing, and eventually off the plane to the hanger floor.

"Let me go, or I'll detonate the virus," Brackett warned as Jim got an arm lock around his neck.

"Fine. It'll take you with it," Jim growled, no longer caring about Brackett's empty threats.

"You're out of your league, Ellison. Give it up and we'll both be better off," said Brackett, throwing Jim over his shoulders as the two tumbled to the ground.

After a brief scuffle, Jim managed to wrest the remote detonating device from Brackett's hand, only to have it knocked away. Landing on the hard concrete floor, the device shattered.

Brackett struggled to get up. "It's broken! That remote was the only way to stop the detonator, and it's due to blow in less than five minutes!"

"Well, it looks like we're both out of time, then," said Jim. "Where's the virus?"

"It's in the trunk of my car."

Jim and Brackett emerged from the hanger in time for Jim to see a soldier push Blair to his knees and hold a gun on him. Obviously, the military had found a way to disarm the bridge, but the threat to his Guide would not be taken lightly.

"Get your hands off him!" Jim reached the soldier in just a few long strides, pulling the weapon from his hands and pushing him away from his Guide. "He has nothing to do with this. That's your man, there!" he said, pointing to Brackett. "But we don't have time for this shit right now. We have to get back across the bridge and disarm a bomb, or what you choose to do with us won't matter." When the soldier continued to look skeptical, Jim continued. "I'm a police detective." He handed the man his badge.

"A little out of your purview, aren't you, Detective?"

"We don't have time for this now," Jim repeated. "There's a canister of plague that's about to be blown wide open if you don't let us across the bridge to disarm the bomb attached to it."

"Follow me." The soldier led the way across the bridge.

Jim and Brackett sprinted for the car, with Brackett opening the trunk and taking out a silver briefcase. Closing the lid, he rested the case on the trunk and opened it. There was less than a minute to spare.

"I've contacted your Captain," a soldier came to inform Jim. "The HazMat unit will be here in three minutes."

"They'll be two minutes late," Jim replied tersely. Turning to Brackett, he asked, "So what's next? How do we disarm this?"

"It's got dual triggers," Brackett explained.

"Okay. What does that mean?" asked Jim.

"We have to diffuse it simultaneously, or it explodes."

"What's the defusing sequence?"

"Blue, orange, red, yellow," Brackett said. "We've got twenty-six seconds. Let's go with blue."

Jim nodded. "Ready and..."

"Blue," they both said together, as they pulled the blue wires simultaneously.

"Orange," they chorused a second later, pulling the orange wires.

"Red," said Jim, but Brackett stopped him.

"Wait. After we pull the red wire, we've only got one second to pull the yellow wire from the charge," Brackett explained. Jim nodded. "All right, ready? And..."

"Red. Yellow," they called out together, defusing the bomb with only one second left on the timer.

Blair looked up as the sound of sirens rent the air and the HazMat van drove up to take possession of the bomb and the canister. Jim turned to Brackett and knocked him out with one clean punch to the jaw.

Back in Simon's office, Jim perched himself on the corner of the conference table, looking very pleased with himself. "You know, the beauty of the whole plan was that Brackett never even planned on leaving local air space. He had one of his half-wit partners waiting for him on a small island out in the sound with a stolen chopper."

"The Coast Guard found the pilot this morning, still waiting patiently for Brackett," Joel chimed in. "He spilled the whole story."

Carolyn just shook her head. "So Brackett figured the two of them could strip and destroy the plane, then disappear before the Air Force caught up with them."

"Yeah, that's what he figured," Jim agreed. "And then he was going to sell the parts and computer software on the international black market. He could have made a killing, and set back our military by a decade."

"Well, score one for the good guys," Simon said with a grin.

"So, Simon," Blair began tentatively. When the Captain turned his gaze on the young Guide, Blair grinned jauntily. "You know you cut our honeymoon short to sort this out for you..."

"Yes...?" Simon drawled.

"And I was thinking that you still owe us five days," Blair concluded.

Jim shrugged and grinned. "He's right, Simon. We still have five days left, and I have plans for what to do with them," he said, gathering Blair into a one-armed hug.

Simon chuckled and shook his head, defeated. "All right. Go, you two. I can't have you bonding in front of the entire bullpen again."

With a lighthearted flick of a finger to his Captain, Jim led Blair from the office.

"Unngh!" Blair grunted as Jim shoved into him with more force than usual. Bracing himself against the headboard of the bed, he pushed back, driving Jim's cock deep inside him. It had been an eventful last twenty-four hours, with more than one time when Blair thought their primal bond might be tested. That reality both frightened and reassured him. Whatever happened to them, they would be together. But now, right now, they both needed to reconnect, to feel that bond course through their minds and bodies. As their bodies rocked together to an internal rhythm, Blair could feel his mind spiraling out, touching Jim's, becoming one with his Sentinel.

Sight, sounds, smells, taste and touch all exploded around him. Blair could feel the pulse of blood as it flowed through Jim's engorged cock. His vision blurred and he nearly passed out as Jim angled to hit his prostate, sending him into orgasmic overdrive. With a ringing cry that echoed around the loft, Blair came, spilling his seed onto the pristine sheets.

Hands supported him, pulling him back and up against Jim's chest. Strong arms wrapped around him, as Jim continued to thrust into the tight heat of his ass. Blair felt a sting on his shoulder as teeth drew blood in a marking ritual older than time. Hot come filled him as Jim came inside him, and both men collapsed onto the bed.

Blair floated back to consciousness, aware only of a warm embrace of skin against skin, and soft kisses across his neck and aching shoulder. Rolling over, he placed an arm around Jim and smiled. "Love you."

"Sonquolly." The name was spoken softly, reverently. "My beloved." Jim stroked the fresh bite mark on Blair's shoulder. "I'm sorry. I did it again."

"Don't apologize," Blair said. "The primal bonding is animalistic. That's the way it is, and I wouldn't want to change it. I love to feel your power, to become a part of you while we're making love." He stroked Jim's cheek and leaned in to press a soft kiss against parted lips. "I can't even describe the incredible sensation. It's like I'm me, being filled by you, and at the same time, I'm you, filling me. It's so hard to explain." Blair sighed, giving up. "God, I love you."

"And we have five whole days to experience it over and over," Jim said with a mischievous grin. "I'm not letting you out of this bed for anything other than bathroom breaks and meals - and then only when I have to." He cupped Blair's face with his hands and stroked the satin curls. "Mine."

"Yours. Always," said Blair, feeling the stirring of arousal beginning once more in his groin.