Endurance Read online

  Extending his senses, the Sentinel monitored his young Guide. Sandburg was doing his classic imitation of a juggler -- slender fingers flying over the laptop keyboard and then over to the keyboard on Jim's terminal which was logged onto the web searching for information; blue eyes flickering between both screens and an open exam booklet that he was grading at the same time. It was daunting just to watch, but the younger man's pulse was strong and steady, his respiration was even and he glowed with enthusiasm and good health.

  The Sentinel smiled smugly, extremely pleased with himself, and relaxed for the first time in three weeks.

  While the increasing boredom of life at the station had been as aggravating for Jim as the rest of the detectives, he'd welcomed the opportunity to put the plan he'd conceived months earlier into effect. Instead of focusing on cases and criminals, he'd concentrated almost exclusively on his partner.

  He'd taken over Blair's cooking duties, often bringing lunch and dinner to the younger man at his office to make sure the grad student was eating on a regular basis. He'd played chauffeur, errand boy, and valet. He'd even managed to coax his Guide into falling asleep in bed, instead of face first in his laptop.

  Blair had been almost suspicious of his partner's efforts at first, but Jim had countered the younger man's claims that he didn't need a nursemaid with a softly murmured comment about friendship. Once his Guide had understood that his Sentinel wasn't hovering out of guilt or a lack of respect for Blair's inability to manage his own life, he'd graciously accepted the older man's help.

  Things had gone smoothly until the end of the second week. Jim had returned from the Friday night bash to find Blair grumbling about students with no respect for his privacy or his efforts in their behalf. A little subtle interrogation revealed that his roommate had fielded more than a dozen frenzied and demanding phone calls in the few hours that the detective had been gone. The Sentinel had solved that problem by unplugging the phone and advising the station that he'd be reachable only at his cell number for the rest of the weekend.

  Blair had spent Saturday and Sunday surrounded by a moat of peace and quiet.

  Knowing that his friend would be besieged with students the moment he set foot on the university grounds, Jim had called Simon and arranged for some vacation time. Monday morning had found the detective stationed on a chair outside of Blair's office door. His scowling presence had kept the worst of the offenders from wasting the teaching fellow's time and had prompted those with genuine business to conclude it quickly. Tuesday saw him standing sentry again, with similar, positive results.

  Jim listened to the steady heartbeat that carried across the bullpen and smiled again. It had all been worth it. Mid-terms were essentially over and his Guide was still healthy and sane -- or at least as sane as he ever was, given the Sandburg Zone's unusual dimensional capability for the bizarre. The only thing that bothered him was that outside of himself, no one really appreciated what a Herculean effort Blair made to maintain both his academic life and his life with the department.

  Part of the problem was the casual way that Blair waved it all off, especially when he was razzed about the 'soft' life he led as a student. He didn't whine; he didn't go out of his way to let the other cops know that he'd missed a day's worth of meals because they'd been chasing a lead from one end of the city to another; he made jokes about trying out a new fashion statement when he was teased about wearing two different colored socks -- truthfully the result of no personal time left in a frantic week to do basic things like laundry.

  And, of course, no one besides the captain knew that he was a Sentinel's Guide. Even Simon wasn't privy to the knowledge that Blair was also a fledgling Shaman -- the partners had kept that information strictly between the two of them. The frustrating fact was that only Jim knew how much time, effort and unwavering dedication Blair put into his various roles.

  He simply endured it all -- the schedules; the danger; the strain; and the incredible stress of being student, teacher, friend, roommate, police observer, Sentinel's Guide and Shaman, all at the same time.

  Endurance... If there were any justice in the world, you'd find Sandburg's picture when you opened the dictionary and looked up the word, Jim brooded. Pasted right next to the definition.

  Stamina, resilience, staying power, hardiness; perseverance, persistence, fortitude, tenacity; durability, longevity. They were all words and concepts that so accurately described the young man who had become so important in his life.

  Simon's booming voice interrupted Jim's reverie.

  "I'd say that moves Taggert into first place," the captain announced, turning his gaze on the Sentinel. "But how about you, Jim? I know you've got a tale or two that would put the ones I've heard so far to shame."

  "Sorry, Simon. I'm not playing," Jim replied, meeting the older man's eyes with a regretful shake of his head.

  "Why not?"

  "We disqualified him," Rafe chuckled.

  "Can't have the pros playing against the amateurs, Simon," Joel explained with a grin. "Between his stints in the Rangers and Covert Ops, Jim would have beaten us all, hands down."

  "I appreciate the vote of confidence, Joel," Jim murmured, the intriguing beginnings of a idea stirring in his mind. "But I wouldn't have won... not if Sandburg had been playing."

  Jim watched four pairs of eyes swivel in stunned surprise to focus on the grad student.

  "Sandburg?" Rafe choked. "But he's..."

  "What?" Jim fixed the younger detective with an icy, blue-eyed glare. "Just a student? Not a cop? Never served in the military?"

  "Jim..."

  Simon's warning tone eased the Sentinel's protective instincts back down to their lowest level.

  "All of that is true," he admitted. "But given the right playing field, Blair would beat all of us," he added confidently.

  "That's a pretty strong statement, Ellison," Simon murmured.

  "I'm prepared to stand behind it, Sir," Jim responded, throwing down the gauntlet.

  "Now there's a challenge if I ever heard one," crowed Brown.

  "Just hold on," Simon snapped. He studied the Sentinel carefully. "Just what kind of game is this, Ellison?"

  "The same one we've been playing all along, Captain," Jim answered innocently. "I'm just entering my partner as an active participant."

  "Without asking him first?" Simon's voice dripped with suspicion.

  Jim shrugged. "Sandburg's usually up to a challenge... if he finds it interesting enough."

  "So how do we go about setting up this little test?" Rafe asked eagerly.

  "Actually, I have some ideas about that," Jim replied.

  "Wait a minute, Jim," Brown interrupted. "No offense, but you're his partner and you did propose this..."

  "Are you doubting my integrity, H ?" Jim raised an eyebrow in mock disbelief.

  "I don't think we have any worries on that score, Jim," Joel said quietly. "I also know that you wouldn't be proposing anything that would put Blair in any kind of jeopardy."

  "He'd better not be," Simon growled. "I've had to tap-dance for the Commissioner far too many times in the last few years, trying to explain just how a civilian ended up hurt or in the middle of what should have been purely a police matter."

  Jim gave the older man a rueful smile. "What I have in mind is completely safe, Simon. But if you simply want to concede the crown to Sandburg without going through the hassle..."

  "No way!" Rafe objected.

  "The challenge has been issued and accepted, Ellison," Brown declared.

  Jim glanced up at his superior questioningly. "Simon? " Simon glared down at him for a full minute before shaking the air with an ear- shattering "SANDBURG!"

  Jim flinched and turned to see his partner's head snap up in surprise, nearly unseating the glasses that were perched half-way down his nose.

  "Uh... yeah?" Blair's stammered response floated over to the assembled group.

  "Give whatever it is you're working on a rest and join us for a moment,"
Simon ordered.

  Jim had to force himself to keep the grin off of his face as Blair blinked in confusion, then scrambled to find a place for the three books he had balanced in his lap. The younger man shot his partner a puzzled, questioning look as he threaded his way across the bullpen. He stopped just to Jim's left and leaned against the side of a desk, pocketing his glasses.

  "What's up, Simon?" Blair asked cautiously.

  "Your partner's just volunteered you for a little contest."

  Blair gave Jim a wary glance. "And what kind of contest would that be?"

  "An endurance test," Rafe volunteered gleefully.

  "An endurance test," Blair repeated faintly. He turned his head and glared at his partner. "Gee, thanks, Jim," he muttered under his breath.

  The Sentinel heard his Guide's heartbeat shift into a higher gear and caught the flicker of confused pain in the younger man's expression. Alarmed, Jim took a quick look at his fellow cops and saw the faintly predatory gleam in all but Joel's eyes.

  Damn... this is 'not' what I had in mind.

  "I appreciate it, guys, but I think I'll pass," Blair said quietly. "I'm sure you'd all get a big kick out of dragging me all over the academy's obstacle course, but I'm not really into pain and I get enough humiliation on a daily basis working with Jim."

  "Aw, come on, Blair, where's your sense of adventure?" Rafe prodded.

  "I lost it jumping out of an airplane over Peru," Blair quipped. His tone was light, but Jim could see the look of betrayal in his partner's eyes.

  "It's not going to be that kind of test, Sandburg," Jim said quietly. He waited until Blair turned to meet his gaze before continuing. "This game's going to take place on your turf."

  Blair's eyebrows rose in surprise.

  "His turf?"

  "You mean the university?"

  "I don't get it..."

  Jim held up his hands to silence the confused babble. "If you'll recall, gentlemen, my exact words were, 'given the right playing field, Blair would beat all of us.' You never asked for the specifics of the challenge before you accepted." "Pretty tricky, Jim," Simon murmured. "So what are the terms of this contest that you've so effectively maneuvered us into?"

  The Sentinel shifted his gaze back to his young Guide's. "They're simple really. All you have to do is keep up with my partner. If anyone can outlast him, then I'll have to withdraw my claim."

  Jim was pleased to see the expression of glee that sparkled in Blair's eyes. He'd hoped his partner would play along with the game once he understood. Ellison flashed the younger man a quick grin and heard the anthropologist's soft, mischievous answering chuckle.

  "That's it?" Rafe asked in disbelief. "We just follow him around when he goes to his classes and stuff?"

  "That's it," Jim replied. "You keep his schedule. Do what he does, eat when he eats, sleep when he sleeps."

  "Sounds simple enough," Henri remarked. Rafe immediately voiced his acceptance, but Joel took a moment longer to consider, finally nodding in agreement.

  "How long are we talking here?" Simon asked dubiously.

  "As long as it takes," Jim answered. "My guess is no more than a few days, tops."

  "Wait a minute, Jim," Blair interrupted. "I haven't agreed to this yet, you know."

  "Worried, Hair Boy?" Brown sniped.

  "Not in the least, Henri," the anthropologist responded. "I just want to know what's in it for me. I mean pride is great, but it doesn't pay the bills."

  "This isn't an off-track betting parlor, Sandburg," Simon growled.

  "It'll be a donation, Simon," the Sentinel interjected smoothly. "To the Wayward Anthropologist's Fund. What's your textbook fee for the semester, Chief?" Jim asked casually.

  "About $725.00, with all the graduate courses figured in."

  "Why don't we round it up to $800.00? That's $200.00 a piece, assuming that you're in on this too, Simon," Jim suggested.

  "As long as the criminal element of the city is still on vacation, I suppose I can excuse all of us for this little exercise," Simon said hesitantly. "But the game stops if a case comes up."

  "Agreed."

  "How come you're not on the hook for a part of this, Jim?' Taggert asked.

  "Because I'm the judge, remember? This is just an extension of today's game. You already disqualified me from playing. I'll be there to watch every move, believe me."

  "All right," Rafe agreed. "But what if Sandburg doesn't win?"

  "Then I'll pay the winner the $800.00 out of my own pocket," Jim answered confidently.

  "Jim!"

  The Sentinel waved aside his Guide's startled exclamation. "Grab your class schedule for next week, will you, Chief? We'll make copies so that everyone will have an idea of what to expect."

  While the anthropologist departed to retrieve the requested document, Jim finalized the details. "It's settled then?" When four heads nodded in agreement, he smiled and rose to his feet. "All right. The game starts on Monday. I suggest you get all the rest you can over the weekend, gentlemen."

  He sketched a salute and went to join Blair, leaving the others to their own speculations. The anthropologist handed him the schedule with a shake of his head.

  "Jim, I think I know why you're doing this, but what if..."

  Eyes dancing with mischief, the Sentinel met his Guide's concerned gaze with a smile. "Don't worry, Chief. I have the utmost confidence in your abilities. You'll leave them in the dust."

  Blair grinned back. "What about you, Jim? Want to make a little side bet?"

  "On what?"

  "I know you said you weren't going to participate, but an extra $200 would go a long way toward the purchase of that copy of Burton's manuscript that I've had my eye on..."

  "Cut to the chase, Sandburg," Jim growled.

  "Okay. Here's the deal. Just between you and me. You play the game as well... without using your senses. No dialing back the levels."

  "And what do I get in return?" the Sentinel countered with a sly smile. "What's my prize when I'm standing over your comatose body, doing my victory dance?"

  "Pride for a job well done?" Blair yelped and barely dodged the cuff that Jim had aimed at the back of his head. "All right... let me think..."

  "Don't damage your brain, Darwin," Jim rumbled happily. "I'm sure I can come up with something, since I know you don't have the cash. How about you clean the loft and haul out the trash for the next five years?"

  "That's cruel and unusual punishment, Ellison," Blair muttered.

  "And cook all the meals..."

  "Jim..."

  "And do all my paperwork..."

  Blair held up his hands in surrender. "I already do ninety percent of it! Enough. Man, you are one sadistic cop, but you're a great motivator. I'm going to enjoy seeing you squirm."

  "In your dreams, junior. You forget who set up this little game," Jim replied smugly. "I have the inside track."

  "We'll see, Ellison. We'll see." His Guide's face wore an equally smug smile.

  For a split second, Jim wondered whether he'd made a mistake. Reviewing the plan in his mind, he decided there was nothing to worry about. After all, he knew his partner and his schedule better than anyone. And he was an Ex-Ranger, after all. He could take it.

  Although he had to admit that the gleam in his partner's eye had him a little worried.

  Jim barely stifled a groan as he shifted in the hard wooden lecture seat. Thank God the week was almost over. Five days of Blair's schedule had almost done him in. From the front of the hall he could hear the teaching fellow concluding the day's lecture. The younger man sounded as fresh and enthusiastic as he had when the contest had begun

  It's your own fault, Ellison. You had him primed and ready for this. You should have known better. You should have listened to your instincts -- never, never underestimate an anthropologist with treasure within his grasp.

  A side-ways glance at Simon abruptly made him want to laugh. The older man's glassy-eyed stare was priceless. The mighty had fallen. He decided to
join them.

  The Sentinel closed his eyes and pictured the dials that his Guide had designated as his sensory controls. One by one he tuned them into line, conceding the contest. After all, he'd set it all up to prove a point to the others, not to compete with his best friend. On this playing field, Blair was the true victor.

  The anthropologist had led them a merry and exhausting chase. The game had started at 3:01 a.m. on Monday morning when Jim had awakened the competitors from their sound sleeps to inform them that Blair was awake and studying. After dealing with the disgruntled comments of each one, he'd instructed them to open the textbooks that he'd conveniently supplied and to start reading the nineteenth chapter. After reminding them that they were due at the loft by 6:30 for breakfast, Jim had hung up and pulled out his own thick book.

  Breakfast was scrambled eggs, two slices of toast and coffee. Joel and Simon had both grumbled about the small portions, but a grin from Blair had silenced them. Brown seemed content although he looked decidedly crushed at being cut off at one cup of liquid caffeine. Rafe hadn't said a word about the meal. Instead he had asked the anthropologist a question about the chapter they'd been assigned.

  Blair had been delighted and had started to lecture on the spot, but Jim had gently reminded him that they were due at the University by 8:00.

  Once they'd hit the campus, Blair had shifted in full gear and the rest of them had been forced to scramble to keep up. The day had flashed by in a blur -- four classes, two lectures, three meetings, and afternoon office hours. A half of a sandwich was eaten on the run between one meeting and the next. A cup of tea was gulped down while advising four students. By the time the end of the day and dinner time had rolled around, the detectives and their captain had been famished and parched, not to mention a bit dazed. Blair had prepared a quick meal of pasta and vegetables at the loft and then had handed out the night's study schedule, graciously allowing a full fifteen minutes to roam the TV channels and another thirty to read the paper.