The Next Day

Simon woke up to soft lights and tubes that felt like they were coming out of his every vein. He reached up and touched his nose; that at least seemed free of medical devices. On one side of the bed, instruments of varied colors and displays sat beeping at him. He blinked his eyes a couple of times and then tried to move his legs.

"Damn," the expletive came involuntarily from his mouth. Every muscle ached like he had been put through the ringer. His head pounded, his eyes were constantly filled with tears, and it seemed that even the dim light was glaring. Was this how Jim felt?

A movement off to the right caught his attention, and he noticed a body in full biohazard gear walking between beds and writing numbers down on a chart. When the person came to him, he noticed a young man under the helmet's shield.

"Hello, Mr. Banks. I'm Doctor Wendt. I'm overseeing the Glanders cases that come in from the track. How are you feeling this morning?"

"It's Captain, and I feel like shit."

"Oh, you're in the military. Let me jot that down. I thought for sure they said you were a trainer for one of the horses."

"I'm an owner and a Cascade Police Depar--" he couldn't continue. The water in his eyes threatened to pour onto his face and the saliva in his throat stuck half way down. He felt like he was choking.

"Don't worry about it, Captain Banks. All I need from you is a yes or a no." The doctor pulled off the sheet and looked at his legs. A few, pox-like things were on his legs and they were covered in some kind of cream so that Simon couldn't tell just how bad they were. Even covered, they looked disgusting.

"I see that your eyes are still showing a light sensitivity."

"My legs?" Simon croaked. "When did I get those?"

"They were just starting when you were brought in. By starting you immediately on the correct antibiotics, you did not come down with the full-blown disease." The doctor scribbled on the chart. "How does your body feel? When you have the flu, you get body aches. Do your muscles feel like that now?"

Simon nodded.

"It's going to take several days for the antibiotics to get rid of those pains. You were not as badly infected as the other man that came in with you."

"Herman. Is he okay?" Simon had forgotten all about his trainer.

"Mr. Franklin is still unconscious. It was touch-and-go last night, but as he is still alive, I have high hopes for a full recovery. Now, I want you to rest. We've heard from your family, and your son is planning on visiting you later today."

"Daryl," he asked frantically. "How's my son? Is he sick?"

"No, he's fine. He called here last night to say that he had the Mallein test and it was negative. Sleep now, so you can talk to him later."

Simon felt the relief wash over him, rendering his body even weaker. Yet, his mind felt stronger. His boy was safe. The doctor looked at the monitors and jotted down some more notes, gave him a smile, and moved on to the next bed. Simon felt his eyelids close, then he knew nothing.

Jim woke to the sound of the shower running. Throwing on a pair of sweat pants, he went downstairs and started a pot of coffee. While it brewed, he went into the living room and turned on the TV.

"...Has any terrorist organization claimed responsibility for the attack?" greeted his ears.

The broadcast continued with the mayor responding. "No. All we're saying is that it's one of the possibilities being investigated. We have an outbreak of a disease that, before this time, had been totally eradicated from the United States. It is still found in parts of South America and other third-world countries."

"What about the Middle East?" A reporter asked.

"Yes, it is found there also."

There was some conversation between the journalists at the admission then the mayor continued. "The federal government and the CDC are doing their best to track down the origin of this disease. We ask that the general population stay away from the track and for anyone who, in the past two weeks, has come in contact with either the horses or personnel who take care of them, to go to Cascade General Hospital. The CDC has an area cordoned off and is administering a Mallein test, free of charge."

The phone rang, interrupting Jim's concentration. "Yeah?"

"Jimmy? It's Rucker. I tried calling you yesterday, but you must not have gotten the message."

"We were stuck at the track. Sorry."

"I've located a registered ship by the name of Victory Belle, supposedly moored at the Sweetwater Reservoir, south of San Diego. It took some doing, but I found a connection between the boat and the racing industry."

Jim felt his pulse quicken. "What is it?"

"The Victory Belle is registered to a woman by the name of Rosa Romero. After digging a bit deeper, we found that she's married to a man named Carlos Suarez, who owns a Thoroughbred horse farm near Bonita, Southern California."

"Is it listed as missing?"

"Not a word."

"Thanks, Rucker. You've been a big help."

Everything they had learned so far seemed to point in Carlos Suarez's direction. He had stabled Little Stogie. Victory Belle belonged to his wife, which possibly made him responsible for the four dead horses. Jim felt the need to go down and investigate this man. He walked over to the coffee maker and poured himself a cup.

Blair came bounding into the kitchen. "Who was on the phone?" he asked, pulling a pitcher out of the fridge and pouring himself a glass of a reddish concoction.

Jim quickly filled him in on what Rucker had to say, along with the headline news on the TV.

"I think we should take a trip down to the Suarez farm on Simon's behalf," Blair suggested.

Jim smiled. What an interesting way of putting it. They had no official jurisdiction in California, but as representatives of Little Stogie's owner, they had the right to interview the owner of the horse farm. "I agree. We'll have to clear it with Simon, first." That was just rhetorical. Jim knew Simon would have no problems with them going. It wasn't like they were going to be allowed to do anything here. The CDC and the other Feds believed they had it all figured out. Terrorist attack? He couldn't believe how those twits could rationally believe that.

Simon was asleep on the bed, oblivious to the pandemonium occurring around him in the negative pressure critical care room. Doctors and nurses in their biosafety clothing scurried around, reading monitors and writing down notes. Blair stood next to Jim, both of them gazing through a glass window at their sick Captain.

"I don't think he'll be able to give us the go ahead," Jim remarked, rhetorically.

A doctor came hurriedly over to where they were standing. "I'm sorry, but this is a restricted area. You need to leave."

"We're interested in the condition of Captain Simon Banks," Blair piped in.

"He's stable and responding well to the antibiotics. He'll need to be here for a few more days then he'll be switched to another room."

"Is he able to talk to us?" Jim asked, although he knew the answer.

"Absolutely not. He needs his rest."

Admitting defeat, the two detectives left the hospital and headed to work. They wanted to check in with Dr. Lenhard and see if there were any new developments. Now that they had a name and location, Jim was determined to go down there.

As soon as they entered the bullpen, Jim noticed that Joel was sitting in Simon's office. Rhonda rushed over to them. Blair headed to his phone and started listening to his voicemail.

"I'm so glad you're alright. We heard about Simon and Herman, but no one thought to mention your condition."

"Haven't Rafe or Henri come in?"

"Not yet. Were they at the track?"

"Yes. We were all there questioning the trainers and owners. Their test showed that we weren't infected."

She gave him a light pat on the arm and went back to work. Jim's thoughts were interrupted by his partner's messages.

"This is Amy Bannerman. Sorry, Blair. I couldn't find any listing of a registered Thoroughbred by the name of Victory Belle. I checked through the Jockey's Club both in the States and Europe. I then checked for the horses used in eventing and other English style competitions. Nothing. Let me know if you find out anything."

~click~

"Detective Sandburg? This is Dr. Lenhard. I've left a message for you and Detective Ellison. Little Stogie and Just Kidding are well onto the road to recovery. Their fevers have broken and they are eating again. I can't seem to get a hold of Simon Banks or Herman Franklin, so I assume that they are still in the hospital. I'm sure you'll see them before I will, so you can pass the message on. Thanks."

~click~

"Hey Blair? It's Dale Holm calling. I've tried you at home a couple of times and even sent you an e-mail. I really need to talk to you. My friend is in over his head, investigating this smuggling case that uses South American artifacts. I remember that Peru and the other countries down there are your specialty. We could really use your help. Give me a call as soon as you can. Bye."

~click~

Jim scowled for a moment. He didn't know that Blair had friends in other police forces. Shaking it off, he strode to his desk to listen to his own messages when Joel opened the office door and called out to him.

"Jim. Blair. Can I please talk to you?"

It was quite a change from Simon's usual bellowing. In fact, Jim wasn't sure that Captain Banks knew the word, "please". His friend Simon did, but not the Captain of Major Crime.

Blair put down the receiver and followed Jim into the office.

"Have a seat." Joel motioned them to the chairs. "I've been assigned as acting Captain until Simon is back with us."

"Better than Finkleman, huh?" Blair joked.

Jim gave him a wry smile.

"I know you guys have been investigating the Glanders' epidemic. I just talked to Rafe. Do you have anything new?"

Jim filled him in on the call from Rucker and the connection of the boat, Victory Belle, to the Suarez farm.

"I met Carlos Suarez the year before last. Seemed to be a nice enough man. Can't believe he'd have sick horses on his property and not do something about it. He's got a wife and daughter, and the girl spends every last minute with the horses."

"We want to go down and talk to him," Jim stated.

Joel gave a huge sigh. "I hate the thought of losing you two when the city seems to be in a high-alert status."

"But this is important to the investigation," Blair inserted. "Everyone seems to have taken it for granted that this epidemic is a terrorist attack. Did you hear the news this morning?"

Joel nodded wearily.

"If we can prove it was an accident and not by design, this would be a good thing, right?"

"Do I need to remind you that you have no jurisdiction?"

"Joel--" Blair interrupted, "if we're representing the Cigar Club and Little Stogie's owner, maybe we can get in to see this Carlos Suarez. We can nose around and--"

This time Joel interrupted. "No. I don't think that's a good idea. You'll need more clout than that. If you really feel the need to go down, let me call the police department down in Bonita and square it away with them. I know Captain Esteban Rivara. He's a good man. See him first."

"Wait!" Blair exclaimed, excitement lighting up his face. "I've got this really good friend who lives in Bonita. In fact, he just called. Talk about divine providence." The younger detective shook his head in wonder.

"If we have time, we'll make a point of looking him up." Jim nodded to his partner, then turned back to Joel. "Thanks for making that call."

The substitute captain nodded as the two detectives left the office.

"You better bring back something useful," Joel jokingly called out, just before they closed the door.

Blair sniggered. "Now he sounds like a real Captain."

Jim went back to his desk and saw that he had only one message.

"Jim, it's Steven. It's all over the news that there's been a terrorist attack at the track. I feel terrible that I got you involved in the drowned Thoroughbreds and knowing you, you were probably at the track when they hit. Please call and let me know that you're okay."

Jim groaned audibly as he dialed his brother's number.

"Mr. Ellison's office."

"Lily? This is Jim. Can I talk to Steven?"

"You're not in the hospital, are you? Your brother will be kicking himself for years if you are."

"No, I'm at work."

"Great. Let me get him."

Jim spent the next ten minutes reassuring his brother that the horse disease was not a terrorist attack, despite what the news reported and that he wasn't sick. Blair looked up at him periodically, smiling and then going back to his computer screen. He printed out a large stack of documents and shoved them into a folder. Jim was finally able to say goodbye.

"Phew. He's really upset."

"I got us plane tickets for Bonita and a rental when we land at the airport."

"Good work, Chief. We're outta here."

Even though Joel had told Jim to head directly to the police station, he decided to take a trip to the marina first. Documentation on file showed the Victory Belle to still be docked there and Jim wanted to see it first hand. When they arrived, the two detectives took a walk around.

"Do you know what slip it's supposed to be in?" Blair asked, his head bobbing back and forth, checking out the signs.

"According to the computer, he's at number seventy-eight." Jim could see the dock for sixty to seventy-four.

"There!" Blair pointed off to the left.

Jim focused his eyes and read the numbers that weren't hidden by the boats moored there. "Let's go."

Jim took off and Blair jogged alongside. Purposefully, Jim slowed his strides. "Sorry."

"That's okay, man. You know there are two slots that don't have boats in them. I bet one is seventy-eight."

"I think you're going to be right."

They came to the dock and started down it. Numbers seventy-six and seventy-eight were indeed empty.

Someone from the boat moored at slip seventy-four jumped from his deck onto the dock. "Can I help you?"

"I'm Blair Sandburg and this is my friend, Jim. We were wondering what happened to the Victory Belle. Wasn't she here last month?"

Jim smiled at his partner's way of putting others at ease.

"Yeah. Carlos took the boat down to Baja for his brother to use. He said he didn't expect it back any time soon." The man laughed. "That's the problem with brothers. They never think they need to return anything."

Jim nodded with understanding. "Is the man around?" he asked.

A guarded look came over the once helpful stranger. "No. I haven't seen him lately."

Jim pondered the situation for a minute then realized that there was not going to be any more help from this quarter. "Thanks so much for your time," Jim told him, and began slowly walking back the way he had come. Blair followed a few steps behind.

"Well, that was a bust."

"Not really," Jim replied. "We knew the boat wouldn't be here. And just because Carlos Suarez told people that he was giving his boat to his brother doesn't mean he did. It's a pretty clever way to explain the disappearance of the boat. Some time goes by, and he'd just tell everyone that he'd given up hope for ever getting the boat back and either buy a new one or let the slip go to someone else." Jim liked his hypothesis. "On to the station?"

"Yep," agreed Blair.

Jim parked the rented car in the visitor's lot of the Bonita Police Department. Blair bounded out of the car, anxious to go inside. He just couldn't believe things had worked out this way. It had to be divine providence. Dale needed to talk to him and now here he was, in the same little town. Maybe he'd even run into Dale's roommate, Andrew, here at the station.

The two Cascade detectives were stopped first at the reception desk. They stated their purpose and were immediately escorted up to Bonita's own version of Major Crime.

"Detective Ellison. Detective Sandburg. Welcome to Bonita." A rotund man of Latin American descent, in his fifties, came over to greet them. "I'm Captain Rivara. Come in. Joel Taggart told me all about your problems and let me tell you, we've had our share of the same."

"The same?" Jim questioned. Blair momentarily forgot all about his friend.

"We've got a teenage girl in the hospital dying of Glanders and they're not sure she'll make it. It's Suarez's daughter."

Blair and Jim exchanged looks then Jim spoke up. "We knew that there was an outbreak at the Santa Anita track, but we hadn't heard about down here."

"The Army has had the Suarez farm surrounded, no one goes in and no one goes out."

Blair saw Jim start at the word Army. Why would they have been deployed instead of the Guard, he wondered.

The captain continued, "All the horses have been put down. Carlos had it, but the antibiotics have cleared it. The girl is a different story. Her horse was sick, and she was afraid that if she told her parents she wasn't feeling well, they'd make her leave the barn. By the time anyone knew how bad off she was, it was too late."

"So the government must know about this. Why is it that they're letting the story about a terrorist attack leak through?" Jim asked.

"Haven't heard that one. Down here, everyone knows it was Carlos Suarez's fault. We haven't arrested him, yet, because of his daughter, you know."

"In Cascade, they haven't announced where the epidemic originated, so the reporters are having a field day, speculating on terrorism."

Captain Rivara nodded with commiseration. "Reporters are the same everywhere."

"What exactly did Suarez do that caused this epidemic?" Blair asked.

"Imported a horse illegally -- a birthday present for his kid. It didn't go through proper quarantine before being brought into the country. He has a boat that he uses occasionally to transport horses to races."

"Why weren't other tracks notified?" Jim asked, interrupting Blair's train of thought.

"We didn't think the daughter's horse had contaminated the Thoroughbreds. They were kept separate. It wasn't until the horses up at Santa Anita became sick that we began looking around."

Blair could feel Jim getting tense. He was furious himself, but understood that bureaucrats seldom talked to one another, even in the same agency. "We haven't had any lunch. Why don't you take us down to your cafeteria and we'll eat," he suggested, trying to ease the tension.

Jim grunted, but the Captain agreed. As the three men walked through the bullpen, Blair happened to notice an Aztec death mask sitting on a desk. He looked up at the detective sitting there, and their eyes met. The officer got up and walked over, glancing back and forth between Blair and Jim. After an internal decision, he spoke directly to Blair.

"By any chance are you Blair Sandburg?"

"Yes, I am."

"I'm Andrew Wood. Captain Rivara mentioned this morning that Detectives Ellison and Sandburg were coming down from Cascade."

Blair let a wide smile fill his face. "And you're Dale's roommate. He's told me all about you. In fact, I was going to try and get a hold of him while my partner and I were down here."

"Listen, why don't you both come over for dinner tonight. I'm sure you and Dale have a lot of catching up to do."

"Thanks, man. We'd love to." Blair cast a quick look at Jim, who seemed to be eyeing Andrew with curiosity. "Dale and I met on a dig several years ago down in Chichen Itza. It's an ancient Mayan city--"

"I get the picture, Chief," Jim interrupted. "What time?"

Andrew laughed. "I get out of here by six. Why don't you show up at seven?"

"We'll be there." A teasing glint came from Jim's eyes, "But only if Dale promises to tell us some interesting stories about this one," Jim teased, as he jerked a thumb towards his partner.

Blair laughed self-consciously. "I'm sure he'll only be too glad to oblige."

"Now," Jim pointed out, "the Captain is waiting."

Blair looked over to see an indulgent look on the Captain's face.

"Sorry," Andrew looked contrite. "See you tonight."

Blair quickly followed the pair of retreating backs.

Captain Rivara led them to the cafeteria. Jim wrinkled his nose as the different scents of bad Mexican food assaulted him. Blair had to use all his self-control to keep from laughing, even though he agreed with the assessment. The smell of frying steak and onions wafted through the air and seemed to stick to their clothes and hair. The captain didn't seem to notice as he stood in line selecting a burrito from the counter. Blair and Jim picked out their own lunch and joined the captain at a table near a window.

"So, you know Dale," Rivara commented between bites.

"We met on that dig, and he even came up to Rainier for a semester or two. Both of us were, and still are, interested in ancient American cultures," Blair explained.

"Dale's expertise has been a big help to our department. Living so close to Mexico, a good number of our cases revolve around illegally imported artifacts. But, that's not the reason for your visit."

"Right," Jim agreed. "I want to hear more about your investigation into the Suarez farm."

Blair felt a monetary twinge of regret. It felt good to hear that another police department respected the contribution of an anthropologist, and he wanted to hear more of Dale's exploits.

"Not much to tell. Carlos Suarez called a vet in to treat that Peruvian Paso he had bought his daughter. The girl was nursing her horse for several days before the other horses became sick. After the track at Santa Anita reported a sickness spreading, we began investigating with the vet." The captain paused to take a drink and wipe his face. "When the girl collapsed with the same symptoms, the Army came and enforced a quarantine. The same thing happen with you up north?"

Blair watched Jim carefully put down his hamburger. The stiff control in the motion made Blair swallow thickly. He could understand his friend's disgust at the lack of communication. It was appalling.

"Something like that. Do you have any idea," Jim asked, "why there wasn't a better exchange of information between the officials down here and places where horses from the farm had been transported?"

Captain Rivara looked affronted then relaxed. "We had no idea that more outbreaks had occurred until Joel Taggart called me."

"There's actually another outbreak -- in Portland, Oregon."

The captain paled. "No, I didn't know."

"Have you confiscated any records that show all the places where Suarez has transported horses? As a professional stable where Thoroughbreds are wintered and then shipped back to home tracks, one would think this would have been looked into."

"I thought that Carlos owned all those horses. Santa Anita and Hollywood Park are the only places where he runs his own. But why didn't the Feds check into those other places?"

"Maybe Suarez didn't let anyone know that he boarded horses at his place," Blair suggested. "You know, trying to save his own butt. We know he tried to get rid of four diseased horses by sinking them in the Victory Belle."

"His boat? I thought that was down in Baja with his brother."

"Nope," Jim told him. "It was pulled out of the ocean with three dead horses in it. A fourth had previously washed ashore."

Rivara pushed his plate aside. "I am so sorry. We stopped most of our investigation after the Feds moved in. I guess I thought they had it all under control."

Blair saw Jim visibly relax.

"We know how that goes," Blair put in, saving Jim from having to comment. "They don't even know we're down here."

"And probably wouldn't be happy if they did know." Rivara sighed.

A man came up to their table and cast an apologetic glance in their direction. "Sorry, Captain. You're needed in the bullpen. Federal Agent Sandras is waiting for you."

"Thank you, Miguel." Rivara turned back to the two Cascade detectives. "I hope you understand if I don't show you out."

"We can find our own way," Jim acknowledged. "Thank you so much for your time."

The Captain left, while Jim and Blair stayed, sipping their coffee. "So, what do we do now?" Blair asked.

"I'd like to see Carlos Suarez. Maybe we can find him at the hospital. How's your ability to impersonate a doctor these days?"

Blair burst out laughing. "Man, I had you fooled." The little joke helped to relieve the tension. "But, what do you hope to accomplish by seeing him?"

"I don't know. It doesn't seem right that he can disobey the laws, cause so much misery, and not understand the scope of what he's done."

"His daughter is dying. I think he understands." Blair patted his friend's shoulder. "I'm sure he's repenting. He'll be shadowed with this for the rest of his life."

"Maybe you're right." Jim took another sip of his coffee, his brows furrowed in deep thought.

Blair was practically jumping up and down in his seat by the time Jim turned into the driveway of Dale and Andrew's house.

"Would you calm down? Andrew is going to think I'm partnered with a two-year-old."

"Don't worry. Once I'm out of the confines of this car, I'll be fine."

Jim rolled his eyes. "Right. So, how did you get to be friends?"

"We met on a dig in Southern Mexico when I was only eighteen," Blair answered as he closed the passenger door. "We were in the same year in college, but he was several years older. Instead of belittling me like the other students, he took me under his wing and treated me like a brother. He was great."

The front door of the house was flung open and a man, who had to be Dale, came flying out. "Blair! It's great to see you," he shouted, and enveloped Blair in a giant bear-hug

Jim saw the detective he had met at the station sedately exit the house with an indulgent grin on his face.

"Hi, man. So, you need my help, huh?" Blair asked, when given time to breathe.

"I've got artifacts out the wazoo and can't identify all of them. You're the South American expert. I prefer the Mexican ones. There's one I swear looks Egyptian."

Blair put his arm around Dale's shoulder. "Tell me all about it." The two anthropologists walked into the house leaving their cop friends standing there.

"I'm Andrew Wood, and the flighty one is Dale Holm. Dale's not big on introductions -- just kind of plunges in and hopes everyone can follow."

"Sounds familiar," Jim remarked, dryly. "Maybe it's a trait of all anthropologists."

"Or the kind of person it takes to survive in the field. Granted, most of the people they're studying have been dead for centuries."

"Yeah, but it's the cut-throat profiteers that they have to worry about."

"Worry? Dale never worries, except about me when I'm on a case."

"Ditto for Sandburg."

The two detectives went into the house and found Dale in a room describing all the artifacts in a language that, although English, sounded Greek to Jim. Both men were talking at once; it almost seemed like two conversations going on simultaneously.

"Their collective energy is exhausting," Andrew remarked. "I've got some steaks marinating. We'll go grill them and maybe let them know when dinner's ready."

"Sounds good." Jim cast a look at Blair as he left the den and followed Andrew. Neither of the chatting men noticed either their arrival or departure.

"This is a nice house," Jim remarked casually, trying to think of something to talk about. "Lived here long?"

"I've had the house about ten years. Dale moved in maybe six years ago."

"What does Dale do? Is he a detective?"

"No!" Andrew laughed. "He'd be worthless in the field. His mind is so centered on his research and what happened a millennia ago that he doesn't see what goes on around him. But he's been invaluable to us as a consultant on a number of cases."

"So your captain said. He sounded almost as protective as my captain is of Sandburg."

Andrew doused the briquettes with lighter fluid and lit it. The large flames licked into the air as it burned the organic solvent. Jim watched mesmerized. Dancing oranges and reds waved back and forth. Tiny blues filtered in as the fire became hotter. Heat radiated, warming his face as the flickering lights darted back and forth, higher and lower.

"Jim?" A hand squeezed his arm, with nails biting into his muscle. "Remember, I like my steak well done."

The pain brought him back to the present. Marshalling his wandering thoughts, he glanced at his Guide, whose worried look belied the casual words.

"I know. Nothing that might still be mooing." Jim congratulated himself on a response that actually fit the question. Sometimes he was not so lucky. "I will personally see to it that it is a step away from shoe leather."

Blair laughed as he let go of Jim's arm. "Dale and I are going to make a salad. There are even homemade rolls."

Jim chanced a look at Andrew, who was looking at him quizzically. "He rushed out here awfully fast just to tell you how to cook his steak."

"Impetuous. That's Sandburg." Jim answered noncommittally, hoping that Andrew would drop the subject. "Were you involved at all in the Suarez investigation?"

"God, yes! It was hell from beginning to end. The vet came to us because he couldn't figure out what was going on. Horses were getting sick. Trainers and grooms were getting sick. Suarez would say and do nothing. He actively prevented us from our investigation. At least in the beginning."

"Then the daughter got sick?"

"After that, the road-blocks stopped, but he still refused to help. Another detective, Ken Christian, was sent down to Columbia to investigate where that Paso horse came from and found the whole barn sick and dying."

"Christian?"

"None of the others volunteered to go down." Andrew flipped the steak, adding some marinade. "The Colombian army swooped down and quarantined the place. All the horses had to be put down and the workers were either hospitalized or put on antibiotics. It was a nasty scene."

"Is that when the Army was called in?"

"The vet had been in communication with the CDC. It took some time before a test could be manufactured that would prove his theory. During that waiting period, the Army swooped, destroyed the animals, and shut everyone off the place."

"I just don't understand why this was kept so hush-hush. It would have saved us a great deal of time if the federal authorities had let us know so that when the first horses became sick or even when we found the boat, we could have started something to prevent an outbreak."

"I don't know. They didn't want to cause a panic and the Thoroughbred Association probably did their best not to have the news spread."

Jim didn't buy that explanation either. "When I left, the media was suggesting that the outbreak was part of a terrorist attack. People are jumpy enough without that kind of incentive."

Andrew nodded. "I think the Feds here are thinking that, too. I heard them mumbling to themselves, but it hasn't gone further than that."

Placing the now cooked steaks on a fresh plate, the men returned to the house where the table had been set and a large fresh salad and a basket of warm rolls were waiting for them. There was no sign of the other two men,

"Hey, Dale!" Andrew yelled. "Soup's on."

Jim could hear Blair and Dale whispering quietly, but couldn't distinguish what they were saying. The tone he did catch. "They're plotting."

"Does Blair do this often?"

"Yep, especially if he knows I'm not going to like his plan."

Andrew handed Jim a beer and then sat down. "When hunger overrides whatever they're discussing, maybe there'll be food left."

Jim grinned. "Or maybe not."

Dale burst into the kitchen. "You wouldn't eat all those rolls. Payback would be hell."

Blair was right behind him. Jim purposefully met his eyes. There was banked excitement, but no guilt. "Spill, Chief."

"Let's eat first. We wouldn't want this feast to go to waste."

Jim grumbled, but scooped out a portion of salad and drowned it in Italian dressing. Dinner progressed with a lot of joking, but no serious conversation. They carefully avoided anything related to police work. Andrew admitted that the San Antonio Spurs was his favorite basketball team, while both Jim and Blair went on and on about the Jaguars' superiority. Dale was suspiciously quiet.

"Fess up, what's your favorite team?" Blair prodded.

"I've always liked the Boston Celtics, but I'm not a hardcore fan. I'd prefer to read than watch TV."

"Celtics are cool." Blair stood up. "Let me help clear the table," he darted a look toward Jim, "then we can really talk."

Jim felt his heart drop into his stomach. Just by that look, he knew that he was not going to like what was going to be suggested. With fresh beers, they went back outside and took a seat on the deck. It afforded a beautiful view of the reservoir and the setting sun.

Blair cleared his throat a couple of times. "Has Andrew mentioned the case they're currently working on?"

Jim stared back at Blair. "No, we were talking about the Suarez farm. What case?"

Andrew took over, but looked like he had no idea where the conversation was going. "There have been some expensive pieces of ancient artifacts and contemporary tribal art stolen from both private and public collections. However, sources tell us that these items are not the main objective."

Dale burst in. "Can you believe this? They use them as cover for smuggling drugs and weapons. Some of them get ruined. Others are fake and are made to look like the real thing."

Blair added, "Dale wants me to stay and help catalogue and authenticate the recovered artifacts."

"Stay?" he asked dumbly, stalling for time in order to comprehend what had just been said.

"Dale has been doing it all on his own, and it's overwhelming. Plus, I have an expertise in the South American cultures that he doesn't have. His concentration has been mostly in Mexican social and religious customs."

"We would have to check it out with Captain Rivara first," Dale inserted. "We'd need his okay."

Finally Andrew spoke. "I don't think it would work. It's one thing to ask the captain to accept you," he directed at Dale, "when you're not a trained police officer. Now, you're going to ask the captain to take on the responsibility of a colleague of yours?"

Jim hated what he was about to say, but it had to be done. "Sandburg is a trained detective. He went through the academy two and a half years ago."

Dale stared speechless at Blair. "The academy? The last time we talked, you told me you were just observing at the police department. I thought you were still at Rainier working on your Ph.D.?"

Jim exchanged a look with his partner. He'd let Sandburg explain.

"Well things, I guess, have changed. At first I didn't want to talk about it, then it never really came up in our conversations."

"So, what happened?" Dale asked, still looking shocked.

"It all started when my mother sent a copy of my almost finished dissertation to a publisher. The university got real mad. One thing led to another. I had a hissy fit, the chancellor had a hissy fit, and both of us said some nasty things."

"I can't believe your mother would interfere like that." Dale sounded truly shocked. "So you left and immediately became a cop?"

"She didn't do it intentionally," Blair defended his mother's actions. "She thought she was helping. But it did cause a big mess. The only workable option was to leave Rainier. I didn't immediately become a cop," he admitted. "The academy was not a walk in the park."

"Chief, you breezed right through it. The instructors there didn't know what hit them. Not only didn't they have a raw recruit, but they soon learned this 'rookie' was a professional student." Jim turned to Andrew. "Sandburg danced rings around them."

Dale still looked suspicious. "I know there's something you're not telling me. You wouldn't have burned your bridges like that unless there was a very good reason."

Again Jim's eyes met those of his partner. Jim wasn't sure if Dale knew of Sandburg's obsession for Sentinels. Blair did get his Master's using that topic.

"The paper my mother gave to the reporters wasn't exactly finished. I had put some parts in it that I later announced to be false. The Chancellor called it fraud and I withdrew from the program."

"Did you turn the thing in? How could it be fraud if your mother jumped the gun and sent it to a publisher?"

"I just wanted the whole thing out of the headlines. Can we drop it for now? Please?" Blair asked his friend. "It's over and done with. In the past."

Jim could see Dale's mind going through what Sandburg had said and what hadn't been said. Dale's eyes widened slightly, he glanced at Jim, and then nodded slowly. "Okay Blair, for now. But one day, you're going to owe me a long explanation."

Andrew interrupted, "Well, I am sorry you left the anthro department, but any help you can give us will be greatly appreciated. The fact that you're a cop should help convince the captain to let you stay. It's your own captain you'll have to worry about. I bet he won't be easy to convince."

Jim gritted his teeth, dismayed that his partner and Guide wanted to stay in Bonita. He could just imagine the comments and arguments from the other detectives in Major Crime. Even Rhonda would have something to say about it. In addition, he could tell by the look on Dale's face that the young man wasn't 100% happy with Blair's explanation and request, and he hoped that it didn't put a strain on their friendship. Since the dissertation mess, Blair didn't have as many friends in the anthro field as he used to. Jim hated to add tension to one of the few remaining relationships.

To Jim's surprise, the subject wasn't mentioned again. The conversation centered around the smuggling ring and soon even Jim forgot his feelings of discomfort. When it was time to leave, Jim sincerely thanked the two men for a nice evening.

"We'll see you at the station tomorrow, right?" Andrew asked at the front door. "What time is your flight out?"

"Eleven-thirty," Blair answered.

Jim inserted, "Yeah, we'll stop by around nine."

"If the two captains say yes, Blair's welcome to stay here," Dale offered.

"Thanks, man. I'll take you up on that."

Jim got into the front seat and started the car.

Blair was still hanging out his window, talking to Dale. Slowly, Jim began backing the car up, and Blair took the hint and pulled his head back into the vehicle.

As soon as they got onto the road, Jim began complaining. "Do you really want to stay?"

"Yeah. They really need my help. Dale's been spinning his wheels over just this one death mask for two days. There's just something about it that's not quite--"

"I know he wants you to stay. But do you want to stay?"

"Yes. It'll be challenging and fun. I've missed not getting involved in ancient cultures. This will be like a mini-vacation. No stress. No danger. Just undiluted research."

Jim began to feel guilty. It was his fault, his very existence, that kept Blair out of the anthropology community. It was only for a week, two at most, that he'd be gone. He could live with that, couldn't he?

Jim sighed. Even if Captain Rivara okayed it, he'd still have to get it past the Cascade PD and Simon wasn't there to give his permission. Jim would bet his last twenty that Joel didn't have the authority. He'd just have to wait and see what the next day would bring.

At nine o'clock sharp, Blair and Jim arrived at the Bonita Police Station. The younger man was so excited about possibly working on this case that he had barely slept. Jim had tried for several hours to talk him out of staying, but Blair remained firm. The project intrigued him.

Dale had given him a puzzle and his mind went over it all night. The death mask had been obtained in a bust, but so far they couldn't figure out its importance. No drugs had been found associated with it. So, why did they have it? Dale said he had authenticated it, and Blair did agree that it wasn't a fake. So, what was wrong with it? What was he missing? It tickled at the edge of his consciousness, but the answer eluded him. For now, he put it aside and concentrated on getting to stay in sunny California. He knew Jim wasn't happy about it, but it would only be for a week, two at most.

The receptionist let them through with their assurances that they remembered the way. Jim's long strides took him halfway down the hall before Blair could catch up. The older detective didn't even notice. Usually when that happened, Jim would slow down with an apologetic grin. Not this time. His mind was focused on the upcoming interview, or so Blair believed.

Jim opened the door to the bullpen. Blair could see Andrew talking quietly to the captain, both hunched over the mask sitting on the desk. Dale was seated, looking up at the two. He smiled and jumped to his feet when he saw the Cascade detectives come in the door.

"Detectives Ellison, Sandburg," the Captain greeted them. "Andrew's been telling me about..."

Blair stopped listening. His eyes were focused on the mask. The dark eyes from the mask were staring at him. In fact, they were screaming at him. What was it that they were trying to say? He wandered over to the desk, paying no attention to the others in the room. The eyes. Black obsidian eyes. Bingo! "Dale," he called huskily. "I've figured it out. Look at the eyes. When this mask was used six hundred years ago, the eyes were cut out, like empty holes. The soul had to see their way to the after-life. But this one has huge dark eyes in their place, not open holes. They shouldn't be there."

Andrew went over to the mask and fingered the black stones. He pushed and one popped out, fell onto the ground then shattered. A small, dense, white cube was visible among the shards of black glass. Dale and Blair gave each other a high-five. "Yeah!" They both grunted in satisfaction.

"I knew there wasn't something right with that mask," Dale commented. "But I couldn't come up with what it was."

Andrew slipped on a pair of Latex gloves and picked up the white cube.

"Me neither. All night I kept going through funeral rites and artistic ingenuity. Then this morning, those eyes kept talking to me. They were wrong, but looked right."

Jim crossed in front of the two anthropologists to get a closer look.

"It was very cleverly hidden. Only someone knowledgeable on these types of artifacts could have discovered the secret." Dale grinned at Blair.

~Bang!~ Andrew broke the other eye. A second white cube fell out.

"You find something?" asked a man with short dark hair and a cultured accent, as he walked up to the desk.

"This is Detective Christian. Ken, this is Detective Jim Ellison and Detective Blair Sandburg." Andrew introduced them to the other detective.

"Drugs," Andrew announced to everyone.

"Something new and very deadly," Jim added.

"All inside the hollow glass eyes?" Blair asked incredulously.

"Good work, Blair," Captain Rivara complimented. He then turned his attention to Ken Christian. "Take this to forensics and have them run tests on it."

Andrew carefully placed the cubes inside an evidence bag and handed it to the other detective who then left the bullpen.

Rivara spoke once more to Blair. "I see you're an asset to the department already."

All eyes turned to him. "What do you mean?" Blair asked.

"Andrew explained the situation to me this morning," the captain explained. "So I took it upon myself to call Joel Taggart and see if we could work this out. He then talked to your commissioner, who agreed on two conditions. One, that Blair Sandburg not stay too long, and the other, that we exchange detectives." Rivara looked at Jim and Blair. "I understand this is something you have done before? Taggart told me of an Australian officer you have in your department."

"Yeah. Inspector Megan Connor," Blair offered. "She's a great detective."

"Then it's settled," Rivara concluded.

"Who are you going to send up in exchange?" Jim asked.

"I haven't decided, yet." The captain glanced around. "Probably Christian. He doesn't mind traveling."

"I'm going to need clothes." Blair announced, interrupting. "I only brought down enough for two days."

"Good excuse," Jim commented, trying to put a lighter note into his voice, even though he was unhappy. "You've needed new things for a couple of months now."

"But between William getting kidnapped and the other ulcer-causing cases, there just hasn't been time."

"I'll take you to the new mall," Dale offered.

"Take the day off, Detective Sandburg," the Captain instructed. "Do your shopping, get settled, and come in tomorrow morning."

Blair was psyched. The three men left the station, with Dale following behind in his Subaru Forester.

"Remember, Chief. Nothing dangerous. Research is fine. Gun fights are not."

"Don't worry, man. I have no intention of doing anything but cataloging and authenticating artifacts. There's nothing dangerous in that."

"Ha!" Jim responded, thus ending the conversation.