Carnival (Part I of the 'Carnival' Series)

Author: Daenar (daenarchurill@yahoo.de)
Disclaimer: JAG is property of Belisarius Productions, CBS and Paramount Pictures, no copyright infringement intended.

Rating: 12+
Category: Romance (H/M), Humor

Summary: Harm and Mac are sent to Venice on a rather strange investigation. Besides, it's carnival season...

Spoilers: All up to the whole of season 7.

Author's note: This is my very first fanfic ever. Don't be too harsh with me. And English is not my mother tongue. So, please, don't be too harsh on my language skills, either. Regarding the story: My fiancé is an Italian navy officer from Venice, and I actually witnessed the inauguration of the "Venice Port Authority Gondola".

Many, many thanks to Kate for the initial encouragement to go on writing and to Sarah for beta-reading the whole story.

************************************

Feb. 24th
1407 ZULU
JAG Headquarters
Falls Church, VA

 

"Good morning, sir. I'm sorry, sir, traffic..." Commander Harmon Rabb, Jr. let his speech trail off as he noticed the admiral's severe stare. Coming to attention, he inwardly sighed and hoped this would be over soon.

"Traffic, right?" Admiral AJ Chegwidden fixed his eyes just a moment longer than was necessary on the commander's face and then cleared his throat. He didn't have the time today to get into his senior lawyer's lack of timing once again so for now he would just let it pass. But he still had to suppress a grin at seeing how his SEAL-trained killing stare was obviously intimidating the normally self-confident ex-aviator. He glared at him for two more seconds before saying: "At ease. Have a seat."

Harm sat down in front of his CO's desk and tried not to make too much noise as he slowly exhaled, wondering slightly why this time AJ had let him off the hook this easily. He cast a quick glance sideways to where his partner was already sitting, punctual as always.

Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Mackenzie caught his expression, cocked her eyebrow and tried not to smile too widely. Her "I-could-have-bet-you-would-be-late" grin could wait for now. She, too, was slightly taken aback that AJ had made no further comment. He must have something really important to tell them.

"Colonel, Commander, I know you just returned from your last assignment in Turkey, but I fear I have to send you away again ASAP." From the not too well suppressed frowns that were showing on his officers' faces AJ knew that, although he was in the position to order them, he would still owe them afterwards. They had been away for almost seven weeks on a heavy sexual harassment case. This was their first day back at JAG. At least this time the destination seemed somewhat nicer. "The Secnav called me yesterday to request your immediate departure to direct a... well... let's say... an investigation that could turn out a little tricky on the diplomatic level." He let his words sink in and watched his officers' expressions change from frustration to mild curiosity.

"Where are we headed, sir?" If Mac was upset she was careful not to let it show.

"Venice."

Harm and Mac exchanged a surprised glance. AJ noted it seemed a positive surprise to them, as he had hoped it would.

"What's the case?" Harm's expression was perfectly neutral.

"Theft. Committed by two American sailors. Add drunk and disorderly."

Mac raised her eyebrows. "Sir," she began carefully, "Why should the Secnav insist that you send us to investigate? The Mediterranean office could surely..."

"That's what I thought, Colonel," AJ cut her off. "Maybe you should ask what they stole."

Harm threw Mac a quick puzzled smile and then turned his attention back to the admiral. "So, what exactly did they steal, sir?"

"The Venice Port Authority's gondola."

"The V..." Harm's eyes almost popped out of his head as his words faded away. Mac just stared at her CO.

AJ again fought hard not to smile. "Yes, Commander, you heard me right. It seems that, in 1999, the admiral commanding the Venice Port Authority had a traditional gondola especially built for official purposes. From what the Secnav tells me, the Italian Navy considers this boat a valuable symbol of how traditions are kept up in the military and of how the maritime traditions of the ancient grand Republic of Venice have become a substantial basis for the Italian Navy itself. Italy is one of our most important NATO partners in the Mediterranean region. It seems that the... well, let's call it disappearance of the gondola has caused quite a disruption in military diplomatic circles right up to the headquarters in Brussels."

"Oops," Harm stated under his breath.

Mac suppressed a giggle. "Who are the suspects, sir?"

AJ put on his spectacles and looked onto the file that lay open on his desk. "One Petty Officer Second Class Alan Merriner and one Seaman Paul Quinn, currently serving on board the USS Cole. The Cole is conducting a minesweeping operation in the southern Adriatic, still related to the Kosovo activities. They had come to Venice for a weekend. It seems that when the navy gondola was missing the Italians initiated a thorough search and quickly found it stuck in a narrow canal near Rialto, Merriner and Quinn snoring peacefully inside."

"The case seems rather clear to me, sir," Harm ventured carefully. "They got drunk, felt like doing something out of the ordinary, and then..." He let his voice trail off, insinuating the course of the events.

AJ sighed. "If it were just for the facts, you wouldn't need to go to Europe again, Harm. The culprits confessed, they are currently waiting to be court-martialed. It's the diplomatic dimension that's worrying the guys in the Pentagon. The Secnav thinks we need to make the Italians see that we fully understand the importance of their traditions and therefore send two of our top personnel to prosecute. Besides, you will be expected to participate in social activities designed to smooth the seas. Our main task will be to represent the US Navy in the most decorous way possible in military diplomatic circles to demonstrate our respect for the seriousness of Italian naval traditions."

"Did you say 'our', sir?" Mac asked.

"Yes. I'm accompanying you." AJ smiled. "I thought if the US Navy would bother to send their two top lawyers to handle the prosecution and if, in addition to that, the Judge Advocate General himself would bother to join the crowd on the diplomatic parquet, the Italians should get some hint that we do in fact honor their traditions and take this matter seriously. Besides, but keep this off-record, please, I do happen to have a daughter in Italy..."

Harm and Mac exchanged another smile. "Well, sir, see you at the airport, I guess." Harm began to look forward to their upcoming journey.

AJ stood. His officers hurriedly did the same and came to attention again. "Go home and pack your things. Fortunately Commanders Turner and Mattoni don't have too heavy caseloads. They will take what I had planned to assign to you. Ah, one more detail. The social events I was talking about include a costume ball. Francesca promised to procure us the suitable costumes. It's carnival season in Venice. See you at Dulles at..." AJ once again fixed his glance sharply on Harm, "1900 sharp. You too, Commander, do I make myself clear?" he thundered.

Harm swallowed and kept his eyes straight in front. "Yes, sir!"

"Dismissed."

"Aye, aye, sir!" Harm and Mac chorused, turned and left the office.

Outside Harm took a heavy breath. "Boy, that was close," he muttered.

Mac crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Isn't it always?" she asked with a cocky smile.

Harm frowned and judged it wise to pass over her comment as they went to their offices.

"Can I pick you up for the airport?" he asked instead.

Mac turned and smiled. "I suppose even you won't be late two times within twelve hours, right? Expecting you at 1815, Commander. And don't forget your mask."

"Mask? Didn't the admiral say that Francesca would see to our costumes?"

"Sure. But I thought that in the unlikely event of your being late again you might want to go incognito..." Mac grinned widely. Harm decided she was enjoying herself way too much.

"Wait till you're late yourself once, jarhead," he snapped back, half joking, half hurt. "I know it might not be for a very long time. But it will happen. And I swear I'm gonna be there to see it."

 

2317 ZULU
Mac's apartment
Georgetown, D.C.

 

"Two minutes and seventeen seconds, squid." Mac raised her eyebrows in mocking disapproval. "But you're improving. You had seven minutes and thirty-one this morning."

Harm bit back his reply as he slammed the door of his SUV shut and walked over to where his partner was standing on the sidewalk. He was starting to get angry about her steady allusions but what was making him angrier still, was that he knew that she was right. "Got your society outfit together?" he said, referring to her unusually big suitcase and trying to flash her one of his famous smiles. It ended up more a strained frown. 'Damn,' he thought, 'Am I about to lose the very last weapon that ever worked on this lady?'

Mac sensed that though he knew she was right, Harm was vexed by her comment. She resolved to spare him any further teasing for the present. Venice could turn out to be a nice trip, for a change. She was secretly excited at the prospect of being in the world's most romantic city, at her side the one man she had ever truly loved in her life. Although she knew that he would probably never return her feelings, she sure didn't want to spoil those days with him. So she smiled at him and replied to his question: "Yes, although I must admit it was a bit of work to pick out the right things. Besides the uniform I had to pack something warm, something not so warm - we're going to Italy, after all, you know - something casual, something for grand receptions, something for not so big but yet official occasions, something for..."

"O.k., I see. Stop it!" Harm was laughing now, his earlier gruffness seemingly forgotten. Mac felt more relief than she would let show on her face.

"Let's say that I won't make you blush for my appearance, sailor," she laughed.

He stopped and for a moment silently looked at her. "You would never, Mac," he said quietly.

Feeling herself blush and unable to bear the intense scrutiny of his eyes Mac looked down, smiling shyly, and silently got into the car.

Harm loaded her luggage into the rear of the SUV, got in beside her and they headed for Dulles. "Lots of comfortable shoes, I suppose?" he asked to ease the slight tension that was palpable between them.

"You bet." She said with a grin and fell silent again. 'A good career, a nice man and lots of comfortable shoes' - well, certainly two out of three was a good thing, but she still sighed with the realization that her nice man was sitting next to her, yet far out of her reach as long as he wouldn't resolve to finally let his guard down and let go. As he had pointed out to her on the admiral's front porch on the day of her engagement party, losing control was lethal for a pilot. And Harm was too much of a pilot in his heart to make a difference between his professional and personal attitudes.

"What's up?" Harm's voice was concerned. Mac realized she must have sighed more heavily than she thought.

"Uhm, nothing really," she tried to come up with a plausible excuse. "Must be the fact that here we are again on our way to the airport. We weren't even home for 48 hours."

If Harm doubted her excuse he didn't allude to it. "Yeah. Pretty hard. Did you get to see Jingo?"

"I went to get him yesterday evening from my neighbor. I'm only grateful that she just loves him and didn't object to taking him again when I asked her today. Poor old dog. At least he got to sleep on my bed yesterday night."

Harm grinned at her comment. But inwardly he was surprised to feel a slight touch of jealousy towards his four-legged friend. Jingo could do whatever he wanted and still always ended up on Mac's blanket. After all things that he himself had screwed up between him and Mac in the course of the last three years, Harm was sure he would never even get near to holding her in his arms at night, feeling the softness of her skin, taking in her scent, loving... 'Get a grip, Hammer!' he scolded himself angrily as he had to step on the brakes to avoid colliding with the car in front of him that had suddenly slowed down while he had been swept away by his fantasies.

Mac jumped and looked at him with upraised eyebrows. "Should we eject, flyboy?"

Harm's glance softened somewhat at her remark. "Sorry." He smiled a little sheepishly.

They rode on in their awkward silence until they arrived at Dulles, both trying to focus on anything but their partners.

 

2358 ZULU
Dulles International Airport
Washington, D.C.

 

Admiral Chegwidden checked his watch and smiled a barely noticeable smile. His officers had two minutes to show up - otherwise he would show off a little, at least in front of the commander. If they were late AJ knew it wouldn't be Mac's fault. Detecting a movement at the far end of the corridor that led to the gate, AJ looked up and grinned broadly. A tall figure, clad in navy blue, carrying a bag and a suitcase and trying to keep his white cover tugged under his arm, and a somewhat shorter, slender figure, clad in Marine green, carrying a couple of bags and a board case, came running towards him. From the expression on the colonel's face when they came nearer AJ could see that he had been right. Mac seemed to be fuming.

"Reporting... as... ordered... sir!" Harm gasped, coming to attention as did Mac.

"At ease, Colonel, Commander. Rabb, you are on time. Colonel's influence?" AJ smirked, winking at Mac whose expression softened.

"On the way the commander remembered that he had to get some things from the drugstore, sir. We had to stop. Beg your pardon, sir," Mac said, obviously not fully succeeding to calm herself about Harm's lack not only of timing, but also of organization.

"Overlooked for the moment. As I said, you're still on time. So, what do you say, 'andiamo, ragazzi?'" the admiral smiled nonchalantly and made a wide gesture towards the check-in desk.

Mac gave Harm a half-forgiving smile and took the lead to the counter. Harm, grinning, shook his head at his irritable Marine and followed her. AJ silently resolved to be on his guard to save his officers from one another's temperaments once again.

Finally they were all settled on board their Boeing 777 to Frankfurt, Germany. Harm tried to extend his legs best as he could without blocking the aisle. AJ did the same on the other side. Next to Harm, Mac had already cuddled up into what seemed to Harm an impossible position to endure, but she appeared to be comfortable. Take-off was delayed by only ten minutes and around 2100 ROMEO - 0300 ALPHA according to their destination - they found themselves eating their dinner and trying to decide whether to watch a movie or go to sleep. AJ was the first to doze off.

"Cute, isn't he?" Mac whispered, leaning over to Harm and motioning towards the admiral who slept with his mouth half open.

Harm grinned back. "Yeah. Don't know why I was ever afraid of SEALS," he retorted in a low voice.

Mac playfully slapped him on the arm. "Don't get your nose up too high. I saw you today..."

As Harm only lowered his eyes with a faked guilty look, she chuckled happily. "Got you. Big time, squid!" Then she, in vain, tried to stifle another yawn.

"Get some sleep, Marine," Harm softly suggested, gently tucking her in with the airline blanket. Mac closed her eyes and sighed contently. It felt so good to be taken care of by Harmon Rabb.

"Good night, flyboy," she murmured, already half asleep.

"Good night, Mac," Harm answered. He was trying to find a sleeping position as well when he started as he felt her stirring, shifting and finally, smiling peacefully in her sleep, cuddling up against his side. Carefully he slid an arm behind her neck and made her head rest against his cheek, deciding that there was no better resting position to be found than holding Sarah Mackenzie close to him. He watched her for some moments, then gently brushed a strand of hair from her nose and then, on impulse, softly kissed her on the forehead.

"Sweet dreams, Marine," he whispered, smiling, and closed his eyes.

 

0847 ZULU
United Airlines Flight 978
Somewhere above the Irish west coast

 

Admiral Chegwidden stretched his arms and legs and shaded his eyes against the bright sunlight flooding the cabin. Looking over to his subordinates he couldn't fight a smile at what he saw. Rabb was holding Mac encircled in his arms. A blanket covered them up to their waistlines and another was spread over Mac's upper body. The arm rest between them had been put up so that she could lean over to him without encountering any obstacles. She was resting across his broad chest, slightly smiling as if in a sweet dream. Harm's chin rested on her head, his even breathing making some strands of her dark brown hair move. AJ decided he would spare them the embarrassment of knowing that he had seen them like this. True, location didn't change who they were. But he was also their friend, not only their CO. And as their friend he would let them stay like they were as long as they liked, while he pretended to be sleeping himself and thus spared them the need to make excuses for conduct unbecoming officers.

 

1356 ZULU
Marco Polo Airport
Venice, Italy

 

"Admiral Chegwidden, sir?" AJ, Mac and Harm had barely exited the terminal when they heard the voice. They stopped in their tracks and looked around. Then Mac spotted a young Italian navy officer approaching and made Harm and AJ turn in the right direction. The young man, with a shy smile, came to attention before them.

"Admiral, ma'am, sir, I am Sottotenente di Vascello, uhm, that is, Lieutenant j.g. Federico Prumetti, Venice Port Authority liaisons officer. I am supposed to pick you up and accompany you to the Arsenale."

The three American officers greeted the young lieutenant in return. "At ease," AJ motioned. The young man relaxed visibly, never lacking the appearance of an officer and gentleman, though.

'He is so cute,' Mac thought, smiling. 'He clearly has high principles about what an officer should be like, but his shyness obviously threatens to get in the way, making him a little stiff. He could use some of Harm's flyboy attitude..."

"Thank you, Lieutenant. Just out of curiosity, where did you learn English?" AJ was really curious to hear that one. Heck, Prumetti sounded as if he had come straight from the Scottish highlands.

"My mother is from Edinburgh, sir," Prumetti smiled, the slightest trace of pride shimmering through his formal sentence. "Her maiden name was MacKenna," he added with a quick smiling side-glance at Mac.

'O.k., I take it back that he still needs advice on being charming.' Mac bit her lip not to smile too broadly. 'He just pulls it off the other way round. If I were a girl in my early twenties...' She acknowledged that even physically Harm and Prumetti weren't too far from one another. Harm was a few inches taller, though, and Prumetti had slightly darker eyes, but they sure shared the weapon of a lady-killer smile.

"Oh, I see," AJ said. "And I understand you are aware of who my officers are. Nevertheless," he smiled, "Just to stick to rules of society: meet Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Mackenzie and Commander Harmon Rabb, Jr., my top lawyers with the Judge Advocate General Corps."

"Ma'am, sir..." Prumetti slightly bowed.

Harm grinned. This guy seemed to be just fine, a little stiff maybe, but sure nice. "Nice to meet you, Lieutenant."

"Pleased to meet you, Lieutenant", Mac echoed, smiling.

Prumetti suddenly seemed to remember what he had come for. "Uh... this way, if you please, ma'am, sirs," he said, taking Mac's luggage and heading straight to a small docking facility. Harm and AJ exchanged a look of 'here's someone who definitely studied behavior' and followed Mac who had caught up with the lieutenant. A motorboat was waiting for them. They stepped on board and left for the lagoon city.

Foamy waves were splashing high on both sides of their boat as the driver, a middle-aged enlisted, drove at what they thought must be forbidden speed. Wooden poles marked the waterway. Harm and Mac were standing in the back of the boat, enjoying the fresh air and the view of the old city they were approaching. The admiral had preferred to stay in the cabin as he was trying to change the frequency his cell-phone was working on, in order to adjust it to Italian standard and then call Francesca.

"This is so great," Mac shouted over the sounds of the roaring motor and the splashing waves.

"Feels like being to some oversized museum," Harm shouted back.

"In former times the Venetians used to take away the wooden poles when enemies tried to attack them from the water," Prumetti explained as he joined them outside. "So the ships would run ashore on the lagoon mud and become an easy prey."

Harm raised an eyebrow. "That's mean. But then, didn't the Venetians have trouble getting their own ships out with the poles gone?"

"No, sir," Prumetti shouted and grinned, "Venetians know the tides and the hidden waterways. We grow up with them, we don't need markings." The pride in his voice was palpable.

"I see," Mac smiled. "So you are half Scottish and half Venetian?"

"Yes, ma'am."

They entered a small canal and slowed down. The sun had come out and found its rays reflected in the windows of the century-old houses that, without any walkways, emerged from the water on both sides of the canal.

"We are at high-tide, sir," Prumetti said. "If you would please watch your heads."

Harm had been watching out to the back and, turning, made it right in time to duck as they were crossing under a small bridge. He silently resolved to keep looking in front from now on. Suddenly the canal opened and gave way to a sight that left them breathless. They had reached the inner basin. To their right, Prumetti explained to them, they saw the Piazzetta, a square that led up to St. Mark's place. And in fact, through the gap between the two huge columns that respectively bore the Lion of Venice and St. George with the Dragon, they spotted the huge cathedral. Innumerable groups of tourists were streaming to and fro, and the embankment with moored gondolas and souvenir vendors looked as if it were ripped right from a movie set. Mac and Harm stared in awe. AJ who had already seen this, having once been married to an Italian, enjoyed watching his protégés.

They went on parallel to the shore. Prumetti pointed out the Palazzo Ducale to them, where the rulers of the Venetian republic had resided, and the ancient prison, the dreaded Chambers of Lead that lay just on the other side of the palace separated from it by a small canal.

"You can count those on one hand who ever escaped from under the leaded roofs, ma'am, sirs," Prumetti explained. "But if you would like to know any particulars, just read the memoirs of Casanova. He managed."

Casanova. Mac had slightly different thoughts at the sound of the name. 'So he wrote his memoirs, did he? Now wouldn't that be exactly the kind of literature to read on a trip to Venice with a gorgeous man at your side,' she asked herself, resolving to look for the book and trying to refrain from smiling.

Prumetti indicated the covered bridge that, at the height of what Harm estimated to be the second floor, connected the palace to the prison. "It's called the Bridge of Sighs," Prumetti went on. "Because people who were led that way knew they'd probably never see the light again and so they sighed." Harm shuddered at the thought. 'The concept of jurisprudence in those days...' he mused.

"Nowadays the bridge is very popular with the tourists," Prumetti added with a wink and a smile.

"How's that?" Mac asked, once again wondering about how perverse people's likings could get.

"Because they say that when two true lovers kiss while they pass under it, their love will never die and they shall be united in eternity."

Eternity. There was the dreaded word again. Harm felt himself cringing inwardly as he always did when this word that he had come to hate seemed to pop up from nowhere to catch him off-guard and remind him over and over again of the biggest mistake he had ever made in his life. And, as he realized with growing horror, here again the word was connected to a bridge, like it had been back in Sydney. And once again he and Mac were on another continent.

'Location doesn't change who we are,' he heard himself say to her in his memories. He remembered the look of utmost hurt and vulnerability that shone in her huge dark eyes. Still, three years and too many experiences later, it felt like a dagger in his heart. He knew it would haunt him until the end of his days.

He had pushed her away when she had had the courage to bare her soul to him. He hadn't wanted to deny his feelings but he had been scared like hell of being so close to her. Harm had long since given up counting how many times he had afterwards tried to think of another way how he could have reacted. A way that would have united him with her like he had longed to be even back then. A way that wouldn't have pushed her into the arms of Mic Brumby, sparing both of them the pain of her yearlong engagement. It all came to nothing in the end. But he couldn't undo the past.

Subconsciously Harm turned his gaze in Mac's direction and found her watching him. Had her thoughts been wandering the same paths as his had? 'Mac, my mind is an open book before you. I can offer no excuses for my cowardice. I only hope that some day I will be able to make it up to you. You may be past your feelings for me but I want you to know that I am not. And I am still working up the courage to tell you some day.'

Harm didn't think Mac could have got any hint of the meaning he had - not entirely of his own will - put into his glance. But then he suddenly saw something in her huge brown eyes. A something that he wasn't quite able to define. Understanding? Hope? Forgiveness? And for a fraction of a second he was sure she could see that he had detected it.

Harm averted his stare, unable to maintain the intense eye contact. But in the back of his mind a thought began to form. A thought that he felt might ease his pain. 'Maybe,' the little voice was saying, 'Maybe you need another bridge, another eternity, to undo the wrong and do right this time. Maybe this is your second chance.' All of a sudden feeling a totally unreasonable inclination to let his rising tears flow, but fighting it down, Harmon Rabb, Jr. resolved to seize the opportunity. On one of the following days, he would correct his terrible mistake. And he felt like thanking God on his knees for the realization. He would have, had he been alone.

 

1538 ZULU
Hotel Bartolini
Near the Arsenale
Castello, Venice

 

Mac was getting angry. There was only one receptionist and he had been on the phone ever since they had arrived at the small hotel where they were supposed to stay during their investigation. The guy, a short, stout, balding middle-aged man with a black moustache, kept shouting into the receiver and didn't seem bothered in the slightest to get back to work. Every time Prumetti tried to approach him, he waved impatiently and threw him some kind of remark.

"I'm so sorry, ma'am, sirs," the young lieutenant apologized, shrugging, "But Sergio has never shown much respect to the military, mainly because his brother is a colonel in the army. But with the carnival season we were lucky to even get hotel rooms for you, so Admiral Della Rosa decided we would have to put up with it." He looked around. "I know it's small and Sergio's... well... particular, but we didn't want to host you inside the Arsenale."

So they continued waiting for Sergio to finish his call. After ten minutes, his agitated voice was beginning to get on Mac's nerves. She suppressed a sigh and a frown and went over to the window.

Their hotel - to call it thus was highly exaggerated - was situated in a small street at the end of which opened the plaza in front of the Arsenale. Mac had been very much impressed by this intimidating brick complex with two castle-like towers crowning the bridge near the main entrance. Venice's Navy headquarters - in former times it had been a huge warehouse, stuffed with supplies of all kinds for the population of the city. But since Venice had been part of the Austrian Empire and the Austrians, in the 19th century, had built the railway bridge that connected the lagoon city with the mainland, the Arsenale had lost its importance, especially since, in the 1930s, a motorway bridge had been constructed as well. Mac wondered what the enormous building looked like inside. Well, she would soon find out as they were supposed to meet the commanding officer later on. At the moment, Mac only longed for a shower.

Finally the receptionist put the receiver on the cradle and, smiling broadly, called out to them. "Ixxcuse me, signori, 'dis was so importanta I 'ad to feenish 'de converationna."

[Author's note: The Italian accent in English tends to pronounce very heavily every terminating consonant. That is why people put an 'a' at the end of the word, to render the tendency when laying down accented speech in writing. So just read normally and think of an audible ending when you find an 'a'-word. Excuse me, folks, that's the linguist in me speaking...]

'Sure, tell me about it,' Harm thought, frowning. He lifted himself from a tiny baroque armchair he had been crouched into and, together with the others, went over to the reception desk.

"My name ees Sergio Bartolini," the man introduced himself, still smiling - especially in Mac's direction, Harm noted and deepened his frown. His protective (and possessive?) instincts instantly came to life and he put his hand on the small of Mac's back, without noticing that he did. Mac inwardly jumped but maintained her professional composure. Only her smile let something of her reaction to Harm's surprising gesture show: it deepened from 'business style' to 'heartfelt'.

"Letta me welcome you to Venezia," Sergio went on, watching with interest Harm's little display of jealousy. "Ammiraglio;" he then addressed AJ, seemingly recognizing their rank insignia, "I was tolda 'datta you would needa 'dree rooms, but obviously eet'sa only a single one forr you and a double one forr your officers. I weell immediately correcta 'de mistaka." He bent down and opened his reservation book when Harm woke from the shock Sergio's little speech had thrown him into. He at once removed his hand from Mac's back and cleared his throat.

"Uhm, uh, thank you, but that's not necessary. Your information was correct." He gave the receptionist a smile that failed to hide his embarrassment. Prumetti saved him by stepping forward, giving Sergio all the names and facts and negotiating the remaining bureaucracy in rapid Italian. They were then given their keys and, having made an appointment with Prumetti in front of the Arsenale at 1800, headed to their rooms. Sergio watched as they walked up the stairway, wondering why Comandante Rabb, who would be judged good-looking and charming even by sophisticated Italian standards, obviously didn't know how to act on his 'amore' for Colonello Mackenzie. He would have to teach them some details of 'dolce vita'.

 

1657 ZULU
Hotel Bartolini
Near the Arsenale
Castello, Venice

 

Harm grabbed his coat and cover, left his room, slammed the door shut and locked it. Taking two steps at a time, he hurried down the stairs and reached the small entrance hall. No Mac, no AJ. Damn that jetlag. But he had felt that he needed a little relaxing after his shower, so he had lain down for some minutes and then he had fallen asleep. He was thanking God again, this time for at least letting him wake up before their meeting time, not after. Slipping into his coat while leaving the hotel in a run, Harm prayed he would be able to catch up with Mac and AJ before they met Prumetti. Sergio watched him leaving in silent amusement.

Harm ran down the lane to the Arsenale at full speed, spotting his colleagues walking a little ahead. In his eagerness to reach them Harm didn't notice people turning their heads in amazement at the navy officer that whooshed past them in a very un-officer-like manner. Finally Harm had caught up with Mac and AJ and slowed down, panting.

"I'm sorry, sir..." he started but AJ interrupted him.

"Traffic, Commander?" He raised his eyebrows. From Mac's direction Harm heard something that sounded like a suppressed snort.

"No, sir, jetlag. Let me add that I am fully aware of my conduct not being appropriate for an officer of the United States Navy and that I am willing to face the consequences, sir," Harm stated, coming to attention in the middle of the street. He sincerely hoped it helped. Mac quickly pulled out her handkerchief, turned and started to excessively cough and blow her nose. AJ wished he could do the same but as the situation was, he, with every bit of effort he could master, maintained his stern countenance.

"Postponed until later. At ease, Commander," he said quickly and added in a sharp hiss, "And don't pull off any stunts like this again, or do you want to ridicule us before all Italy?" His glare could have killed.

Harm gulped. "No, sir."

"Good. Let's go to work then. And, Commander, I heard they have many clockmakers around here. Go and get yourself an alarm-clock. That's an order."

"Yes, sir." Another snort from Mac. 'Someday, Marine, some glorious, singular day...' Harm silently swore.

They met with Prumetti who guided them inside the Arsenale. Mac was disappointed. From the inside it looked more like some office building, not like the castle she had imagined. They stopped in front of the CO's office. 'Amm. Div. Salvatore Della Rosa' Harm read at the door. While they waited for admission Harm summoned Prumetti to step closer. "What's 'Amm. Div.', please, Lieutenant?" he asked in a low voice.

"Ammiraglio di Divisione, that would be...," Prumetti studied the ceiling, silently counting and calculating ranks, "Rear Admiral Upper Half, sir."

So Della Rosa and AJ didn't outrank one another. This fact could facilitate matters with their investigation quite a bit, especially as this case was considered diplomatically tricky. Harm was relieved.

A petty officer bid them come in and in a very court-like manner announced their names. "L'Ammiraglio di Divisione Alberrta Chegwidddden, Judge Avocaita General della Marina degli Stati Uniti," [A.N.: The United States Navy's JAG] he announced. AJ cringed slightly at the P.O.'s pronunciation. Harm and Mac exchanged an amused wink. "...il Capitano di Fregata 'Armon Rrubb," the P.O. went on. Mac's mouth twitched. 'Wait till he gets to you, jarhead,' Harm frowned. "...e il Tenente Colonello Sarah Mackenzie." Mac, having greeted, gave Harm a quick glance of 'Ha, ha...' that left him fuming. There was no justice in the world. Why did Mac, from whatever situation, always come out without the slightest spot on her blouse? 'Some glorious day, Marine...' The words kept turning in Harm's mind.

"Admiral Chegwidden, Colonel Mackenzie, Commander Rabb, I am pleased to meet you," Della Rosa greeted them warmly. He was a distinguished man, slightly shorter than Mac and a little stout, but he must have been very handsome some years ago. His uniform fit perfectly, and his manners and way of moving were of the same school as they had seen with Prumetti, a little pompous and old-fashioned maybe, but agreeable to deal with and certainly fitting the known image of an Italian gentleman. His slight accent only added to his credit.

"Likewise, Admiral," AJ answered.

They shook hands and Della Rosa bade them sit down. "Would you mind if Lieutenant Prumetti stayed while we discuss the case?" Della Rosa asked. "I feel more at ease having a native speaker at my side to negotiate the difficult parts," he added, smiling.

"Absolutely no objection, Admiral," AJ retorted, "Although I doubt you would need help."

"Thank you very much," Della Rosa smiled. "Si accomodi, Tenente," he then addressed the young lieutenant. [A.N.: Sit down, Lieutenant.]

"Sì, Ammiraglio." Prumetti pulled up a fourth chair and sat down next to Harm.

Della Rosa's face sobered. "This is a very ugly affair, Admiral," he began, referring to the theft of the gondola. "It has caused quite a bit of a bad echo with the media. You have to know that, given the direction in which Italian society keeps changing, preserving traditions isn't too popular any more with many people. When we had our gondola built, many were saying it was just another reactionary and over-conservative act by a reactionary and old-fashioned navy that was unfit for the challenges of today's world. You would hear that using a gondola for representative occasions would expose the military to ridicule. Or people were arguing that this was just another way of throwing away taxes, firstly by purchasing this rather expensive but little efficient vehicle and secondly by having to instruct seamen to row it - that's a very special technique, you know - and then to pay them for doing nothing but that. So, at first, we faced quite a bit of opposition with our tradition-keeping. But then, gradually, people began to understand that the gondola and my using it for official purposes created a very special image abroad.

What do non-Italians - and many Italians as well - first think of when they hear of Venice? Mostly gondolas, isn't it? And the gondola itself is kind of a symbol for the century-long and glorious history of the ancient Repubblica Serenissima di Venezia. Which, by the way, is what attracts most of Venice's tourists. So the general image of what we achieved by holding to Venice's traditions was reported to me like this: People respected and valued the way we live our history, and the impression we made on such occasions added much to the esteem the navy always had in our country but seems to lose with the recent changes in society. In short, public opinion reluctantly changed from - excuse me if I put it rather drastically - 'What the hell do those sailors think they're doing?' to 'At least the navy is showing people how to honor tradition.'" Della Rosa sighed. "Your two young men have managed to destroy this change of opinion overnight. You can imagine what we went through when word of it leaked out to the press."

He opened a drawer and handed the JAG officers a folder with some newspaper articles on the theft. Harm, with his basic knowledge of Spanish, was able to make out the sense of some of the headlines. 'Drunk Americans open navy's eyes' he read, or 'Navy, return to your real ships', or 'American sailors ridicule Venice Port Authority'. This was a highly embarrassing matter to the U.S. Navy, he felt, and he was glad the Admiral himself had insisted on going to settle the affair.

"We do see your point, sir," Mac said, "And I am sure I can speak for my colleagues if I say that we are deeply ashamed of the embarrassing conduct of two of our personnel and we guarantee that they shall face the proper consequences." She gave the Italian admiral one of her sincerest smiles, those reserved for very special occasions. Harm caught himself wishing he were the one sitting on the other side of the desk. Did she know how beautiful she was? 'Focus on the case, Hammer,' he scolded himself immediately.

"Where are the suspects now, sir?" he asked, banishing Mac's smile from his thoughts.

"In custody. The Cole had to leave Venice so the captain agreed to let them be kept at the Arsenale, hearing that you were due to arrive a few hours later," Della Rosa explained.

"Did they see their lawyers?" AJ asked, knowing the formal question could sound like an insult. Della Rosa didn't seem in the least offended.

"Of course. The Mediterranean JAG office sent... excuse me," he searched his file, "Lieutenant Terence Baxter and Lieutenant, j.g. Carrie Johnson. They returned to the office to report the case and then you were sent over here. We were informed that the prisoners both made a thorough confession, so we expect the case to be quick to handle. Lieutenants Baxter and Johnson will be back to Venice tomorrow evening. And I wanted to thank you in person, Admiral, Colonel, Commander, that you chose to come. This should be enough evidence even to the densest of journalists that our NATO partners appreciate traditions being kept and valued just as we do."

"It was the least we could do, sir," Harm replied. "Could we talk to them?"

"Of course, Commander. The lieutenant will take you to them." Della Rosa rose, as did the other officers. "I hope I'll see you at tomorrow's reception of the diplomatic corps of Venice," he said, extending his hand to AJ. "We have to offer the press an occasion to get to know you're here, don't we?" he added.

AJ shook hands with him and confirmed that they would be there. 'Good one, this one,' he thought. 'No beating around the bush, no over-sensitivities, no offense taken but no compromise, either. Would have made a good SEAL.'

They took their leave and AJ excused himself from his officers. He had to get back to the hotel because he was supposed to call Francesca at 1900.

Prumetti led Mac and Harm to where P.O. Merriner and Seaman Quinn were being held. "You can go in, ma'am, sir. I'll see to it that you get permanent visitors' badges and free access to the prisoners at no matter what time," the lieutenant said as they stood in front of the cell door.

"We'd appreciate that very much, Lieutenant," Mac said.

"May I suggest something to you, ma'am, sir?" Prumetti ventured, seeming a little unsure if to go on or not.

"Go ahead," Harm answered good-naturedly.

"Ma'am, sir, I think I understood you have never been to Venice before and I was thinking if you, and of course Admiral Chegwidden if he is inclined to, would like to go to dinner with me and my fiancée tonight. We could take you to a typical Venetian place, in order to prevent you from ending up in one of those tourist traps that pull your money out of your pockets and serve only third-class food." The slight stiffness had returned to Prumetti's attitude, clear indication that he was feeling uneasy.

Mac instantly relieved him from his inward tension. "We would love to," she answered with a huge smile, "Wouldn't we, Harm?"

"Sure," Harm agreed. "Thanks for your offer, Lieutenant. You have to know," he added, grinning, lowering his voice a little bit, but still keeping it loud enough for Mac to hear, "Feeding a hungry United States Marine is quite a mission. I could use any help I can get."

"Jerk!" was the hissed reply he got. It made all three of them laugh.

"I see, sir," Prumetti said. "I suggest we meet at 2000 right in front of the main entrance to St. Mark's Basilica. Every Venice-freshman is able to find it."

"You just got yourself an appointment. Till 2000 then," Mac replied, still chuckling. "And the food better be good, or you and you, too, squid, will learn not to trifle with a big bad Marine."

"Aye, ma'am," Harm and Prumetti chorused, the lieutenant not intending to joke, though. At seeing Harm snap to attention as well, Prumetti lost his guard for a moment and looked from one JAG officer to the other in confusion. Then he came to attention again. "I'm sorry, ma'am, sir!"

Mac and Harm laughed sympathetically at the poor young man's embarrassment. It must be hard to deal with their unorthodox behavior to one another.

"See you at St. Mark's, Lieutenant," Harm said, grinning, and saluted back as did Mac.

"Aye, ma'am, sir!" Prumetti turned and went away, his shoulders relaxing when he was a little farther off.

"He must find us scary," Mac said in a low voice. "Let's try to make a more serious impression tonight, sailor."

"You're on, Mac. Just, please, don't eat strange things tonight or I might find it hard to play cool."

Mac just rolled her eyes heavenward and opened the door to meet the prisoners.

Petty Officer Second Class Alan Merriner and Seaman Paul Quinn were playing poker when Harm and Mac entered. They instantly dropped their cards and came to attention.

"At ease," Harm said, "I'm Cmdr. Rabb from the JAG and this is my partner Col. Mackenzie. We'll handle the prosecution of this case. Sit down, please." The foursome gathered around the small table.

"I heard you met the defense counselors?" The young men nodded. "Good. Let me be straightforward with you," Harm went on, "What the hell were you thinking to pull off a stunt like that?" At this he felt Mac's hand exercising some gentle pressure on his thigh, as if to say 'Easy, sailor.'

"I guess we weren't thinking at all, sir," Merriner admitted with a rueful grin. "We had met some guys who knew English in a bar near the Piazzetta. As you may have noticed, sir, it's carnival and people tend to dress up in rather funny ways. Well, so were those guys, dressed up with masks and dominos, and we started to make comments on their costumes and that we would like to get some, too, you know, to be real Venetians. They said, being Venetian started with having Venetian drinks and that we had to try quite a lot of stuff. After... I don't know how long, we were pretty much clouded in our minds, sir. I only remember that they said you couldn't be Venetian without knowing the city.

So we took quite a long walk, but I don't remember very well where we went. After some time they stopped and said that you had to know how to row a gondola to be Venetian. And they were boasting how difficult that was and how no one could learn it by doing. I guess they were pretty much drunk, too. Anyway, at a certain point I said that I had always learned everything by doing. It isn't true, sir, of course, but their cool remarks were getting on my nerves. So I said of course I could row a gondola without their help. And they told me to prove it. We were in front of a huge building and there was a gondola on the canal in front of it. Inside seemed to be many people but outside there were few.

So Paul and I got onto the boat and began to row. Paul took the front row and I the one in the back. I fell into the canal twice because, being drunk, I wasn't very good at anticipating the movements. But the water cleared my head a little and then I managed. We went on the Grand Canal for quite a bit because we had difficulties to maneuver. Eventually we were getting better and decided to try one of the smaller canals. But then we underestimated the size of the boat. Suddenly we were stuck. And the alcohol still made us drowsy. So we just lay down in the boat and decided to wait for the morning. And that's it, sir."

Harm and Mac had listened quietly. "Do you want to add anything, Seaman Quinn?" Harm asked.

Quinn shook his head, intimidated by their icy silence. "No, sir."

"Are you two aware that your behavior is embarrassing to the highest degree and is affecting the reputation not only of the USS Cole but of the whole U.S. Navy?" Mac asked, deadly calm.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Were you aware before the incident that alcohol can diminish your power of judgment?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Were you aware of the alcohol you consumed beginning to have a negative influence on you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Did you consider stopping to drink, then?"

"Yes, ma'am, we did but we..."

"But what, Petty Officer?" Mac interrupted him shouting. "Would it have been... impolite? Old-fashioned? Uncool? A threat to your self-esteem?" Mac had risen from her chair. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes sent daggers. She was breathing heavily. The young men jumped to their feet, staring at her.

Until now Harm had been watching in silence but now he knew he had to step in. The conversation, by turning to the topic of alcohol and its negative influence on human judgment, was on dangerous territory. Harm knew that if there was one topic that Mac considered a zero-tolerance issue, it was misuse of alcohol and the consequences it could have - from disorderly behavior up to abuse of women and children. If he didn't cool the situation now Mac wouldn't be able to guarantee her actions. He, too, stood up and, willfully misunderstanding her behavior, in a gruff calmness said to his partner: "I think you did a good job intimidating them, Colonel. Now let's see if it worked." With this he casually put his hand on her shoulder, like she had earlier on his thigh, and hoped she understood that he was only trying to save her from herself.

Mac felt the reassuring warmth of Harm's hand on her shoulder and took a deep breath to calm down. She was embarrassed that she had lost control, especially before him, but she was also forever grateful that he had been there for her, helping her stay in line, rescuing her once again from the effects of her past and even offering her a way to step out of the mess that she had created by her uncontrolled interrogation. She put on a grim smile. "You're right, Commander. No need to exaggerate. Let's sit down again, all of us." With that she let Harm pull up her chair for her. Sitting down she turned and gave him a quick glance of sincere gratefulness. 'Thank you,' she mouthed. He acknowledged with only the hint of a grin.

"As the colonel has already pointed out to you," he then addressed the two young men who had visibly paled at Mac's outburst, "You have to be aware that your conduct will have consequences on your careers. We will pay attention in your favor to the fact that you cooperated with local authorities and confessed. All further details will have to be regulated between your lawyers and us. If you want to reach us for any reason, call me on my cell-phone." He handed his card to the petty officer. "That would be all for now."

Harm and Mac rose. The two young men sprung to their feet and came to attention. The JAG officers returned the stance and left the room.

 

1845 ZULU
Hotel Bartolini
Near the Arsenale
Castello, Venice

 

Mac surveyed herself critically once again in the mirror. She had changed into black trousers and a simple white turtleneck and after having showered she felt much better than she had on the way home. Harm hadn't said a word about the incident and she was grateful for his understanding. But at the same time she could have beaten herself unconscious with rage that she still let her past affect her to such a dimension in simple situations like this. And that she had let this happen in front of Harm. She had seen nothing but compassion and understanding in his eyes, but she didn't want him to see her like that. Not that he hadn't already, but still... Mac sighed, corrected her lipstick and was putting on her coat when she heard a knock on her door.

"Mac, you ready?"

"Yeah, just a second," she called back.

"You're on time, squid," she remarked with a smirk when she opened her door. "And compliments for your choice of clothes."

Harm was wearing dark blue trousers and light blue shirt under a gray pullover. He looked... Italian, she decided.

"Same goes to you. Nice sweater." White became her, he observed.

"Thanks. Now that we've exchanged enough flatteries, can we go?" Mac locked her door.

"Lead the way, Colonel," Harm replied, zipping up his blue oilskin.

As they crossed the hall, Sergio greeted them. "I weesh you a pleasanta evening, Signorina, Comandante."

"Why does he call you Commander and me Miss?" Mac complained when they had left the hotel. "That's discrimination."

Harm shrugged. "I guess that's the Italian understanding of roles. At least with elder men." Mac frowned.

Passing the Arsenale, they went down to the shore and followed it in the direction of the Piazzetta. Both were rather quiet but enjoyed walking side by side, watching the many people that were underway in the orange light of the street lanterns. As P.O. Merriner had observed, people were taking their evening walks in full costume. They saw dozens of richly ornamented and extravagant dominos, figures clad in black with masks shaped like huge beaks that wore spectacles and black hats, or just people in ordinary costumes you could find in any country. The atmosphere was light and joyful. Up and down Mac and Harm climbed the many bridges that they encountered on their way to St. Mark's, on top of each stopping for a moment to take a look at the canal that opened itself to their view between the houses.

They had almost reached the Piazzetta when they stopped on top of the last bridge separating them from St. Mark's. In the darkness they hadn't recognized the building they had come across, but looking at the canal they instantly knew that they were standing between the palace and the ancient prison. There was the Bridge of Sighs.

Harm immediately thought of the promise he had made to himself the day before, but he hadn't expected to be given the opportunity to act so soon. He looked at Mac who was thoughtfully watching him with her huge, kind eyes. He took a deep breath... He couldn't do it. Not yet. He didn't know how.

'I'm sorry, Mac,' his eyes tried to convey to hers. 'I can't. Not now. But I'm working on it, I promise.' And as if to stress his thoughts he held out his hand to her. "I think we'd better go. Shall we?" he asked softly.

Mac's brown eyes gave away the hint of a smile. She wasn't quite sure what exactly was going on inside her partner, but she sensed his struggle and wanted nothing more than to help him find a way through the rapids down to calm waters. And the best way of doing so, she knew, was to take up his timing, accept the way he acted and rejoice in the little gestures he was ready to offer. So she just put her hand in his and enjoyed the warmth, her smile now fully perceptible. "Yeah, let's go," she said gently, maintaining the eye contact until she found her own smile reflected on his features.

Still hand in hand, they reached the cathedral and found Prumetti waiting in front of the entrance, his arm around the shoulders of a slender young woman. As he saw them coming he started walking in their direction, smiling. The young woman followed.

"Ma'am, sir, good evening," he greeted. "May I introduce my fiancée to you? Claire Farnham from London."

"Good evening, ma'am, sir," she greeted, smiling shyly, unsure if to offer a handshake or not.

"Good evening, Ms. Farnham," Harm greeted politely, "Pleased to meet you."

"Call me Claire, please, sir," she replied.

"Okay," Harm said with a genuine flyboy grin. "And that's Harm to you, not sir. And also to you, Lieutenant, as long as we're off duty."

"Mac," Mac introduced herself to the young couple in the same simple way she had introduced herself to Harm in the Rose Garden, years ago, holding out her hand.

Prumetti answered likewise. "Fred," he said simply, shaking her hand.

"Isn't Fred a very un-Italian name?" Harm asked as the four of them slowly crossed the huge plaza that was crowded with tourists, many of them in full costume.

"My mother calls me that," Prumetti answered. "My given name is Federico, that's Italian for Frederick."

"So, Fred, where are you going to take us?" Mac asked, feeling her stomach growl deeply.

"I told you we were going to get something typical to try for you. So we'll be doing a tour of the so-called 'bàcari'. A bàcaro is a typical Venetian bar where you can choose little mouthfuls of typical stuff to eat and have a drink. When you're finished you go to the next one where they'll be offering other specialties and so on," Fred explained.

"Sounds like fun," Mac observed.

"It is," Claire replied with a smile, "Although you have to get used to some of the stuff."

Harm frowned. "Uhm... they do serve vegetables, right?"

Fred gave him an astonished glance but then decided not to ask. "Of course, sir... er... Harm." With that they entered the first bàcaro that Fred and Claire had picked out for their tour. It was crowded, but there didn't seem to be any tourists - and no costumes either.

"Don't Venetians dress up, too, for the carnival?" Mac asked, a little confused.

Fred grinned. "Nope. During the carnival we mostly stay inside our houses or leave the city. Too crowded. The guys in the costumes are tourists who tend to come every year and dress up in order to pose for other tourists. Vanities, you know."

"You're kidding!" Harm laughed.

"It's true," Claire acknowledged. "I went to university here for some time. And when I asked all my Venetian friends to go out with me in disguise, they would stare at me and laugh."

"But it's true that you should see the Venetian carnival once in a lifetime," Fred admitted. "It's really special, even though it sucks living with it every year." His dry observation made them all laugh even more.

A waiter approached them at the counter. "We should open the evening with a real Venetian aperitif. It's called 'spritz' and it's made of Campari, white whine and soda with a slice of orange," Claire suggested.

Mac smiled apologetically. "I don't drink but don't let that prevent you. I'll just take a San Pellegrino with a bit of lime or lemon."

Fred nodded, again not asking questions. 'Quite a gentleman,' Harm observed. He looked at Mac, unsure what to do. He normally didn't drink when she was around, but on the other hand he didn't want to be impolite towards Fred and Claire. She relieved him from his uneasiness. "But I'm sure Harm would like to try that stuff, right?" she smiled encouragingly.

Harm grinned back. "Sure."

Fred ordered three spritz' and Mac's water. "What would you like to eat?" he asked, indicating the platters exhibited on the counter. Harm gave them a critical survey and decided on some fried zucchini and eggplant.

"If you like veggies you should try those," Claire indicated to Harm something he wasn't quite able to identify.

"What's that?" he asked curiously.

"It's Radicchio di Treviso. A little bitter but really nice. Trust me. I'm a vegetarian as well," she added, grinning.

"Okay then," Harm agreed.

Mac meanwhile had her plate packed with all kinds of seafood Harm chose not to look at too closely. The barman mixed their drinks, warmed up the food they had chosen and took it to a small table in a corner where they settled down. It was a really cozy place, Mac decided. Outside one of the guys with black hat, beak and spectacles passed their window.

"What kind of costume is this?" Mac wanted to know. "It's kind of odd, I think."

"That's the traditional medieval pestilence doctor," Fred explained. "You know, they were dressed in black coat and hat to be immediately spotted and in the huge beak they put cotton with herbs and perfume because they thought that the contagion occurred with the stench. The doctor is typical for Venetian carnival just like the colombine and harlequin." Harm and Mac looked at each other, not knowing what to make of such a strange choice of costume.

They were chatting happily, Mac and Harm eager to learn more details of the ongoing festivities that seemed increasingly complex to them. Just then Harm's cell-phone rang. "I'm sorry, guys," he said with a helpless shrug, getting up and leaving the bar to diminish the background noise.

As he spoke he was pacing to and fro in front of the window where Mac and the others were seated. Mac watched him greeting someone, smiling, then suddenly sobering while his face took up an expression of utmost shock and horror. Harm turned to her and motioned her to quickly join him. By now, Fred and Claire, too, had understood that something must have happened. Fred put some Euro bills on the table and they quickly left the bàcaro. When they got to Harm he was slipping his cell-phone into his pocket.

"I fear the evening has to end here," he said quietly.

"Why? What's up?" Mac asked, putting a hand on his shoulder and feeling her concern growing when she noticed that her partner was slightly trembling.

"That was the admiral," Harm explained. "You know Della Rosa invited him to dinner. Well, they just got a call from the local police. Near the spot where the navy's gondola was stolen they found a body in a hidden corner of a canal. A young girl, maybe sixteen or seventeen, stabbed to death. At least twenty stab wounds all over the body."

"Oh my God..." Mac whispered, paling. Fred put his arm around a trembling Claire, too shocked to speak.

"There's more," Harm went on, his voice strained. "They found the murder weapon. A pocketknife that has been identified as Seaman Quinn's. And it's got Merriner's fingerprints on it."

At this Mac just grabbed Harm's hand and he pulled her over to him, encircling her in his arms and holding her close.

 

2243 ZULU
Inside the Arsenale
Castello, Venice

 

They accompanied Claire back to Fred's parents and then headed straight to the Arsenale, anxious to learn more from Merriner and Quinn themselves. None of them could imagine they had killed the girl. They might be thoughtless and imprudent, but a murder as cruel as this one seemed to be... They found it highly improbable.

Harm and Mac entered the room where the prisoners were being kept. The young men at once sprung to their feet and came to attention.

"At ease," Harm said immediately, "Sit down."

They did as he told them. Both were very pale and seemed scared to death.

"Sir," Merriner blurted out, "Excuse me, sir, but what exactly is going on here? Some Italian came in and said something incoherent about a murder and a knife and... I couldn't make any sense of it, sir, his English was miserable." The P.O. had beads of perspiration on his forehead. Quinn was just staring in front of him as if in shock.

Harm felt compassion for the two young men. "Easy, Petty Officer," he tried to calm him, careful to use a voice totally different from the one he had let them hear during their earlier encounter. His eyes searched the expressions of the two frightened youngsters but he couldn't detect anything else than cold fear and desperation for not knowing what was going on.

Mac spoke up now, her voice and attitude totally the opposite, too, of what they had been earlier. "We received a call from our CO, Admiral Chegwidden, the JAG, who told us that the police have found the body of a young girl in a canal near the spot where you stole the navy's gondola. She was stabbed to death. The murder weapon was identified as your knife, Seaman," she addressed Quinn, whose eyes threatened to pop out of his horror-stricken face.

"No," he whispered, "That's not true..."

"I fear it is, Seaman," Mac continued gently, compassion shining in her eyes. Then she swallowed and looked at Merriner. "But the fingerprints on the knife were yours, Petty Officer."

Merriner sprung to his feet, panting agitatedly, confusedly running his hand through his very short hair, not knowing where to look. "No, ma'am,", he shouted, "That... that's impossible! I mean, my fingerprints may be on it but... I would never.. I... I didn't..."

Harm put a gentle but firm hand on the P.O.'s upper arm and pulled him down again. "Try to calm yourself, Petty Officer...," he tried to reach the young man's sense through the fear that was clouding his judgment.

"No, sir, you have to believe me, sir, I didn't kill her! We'd never do a thing like that, sir!" Merriner kept shouting.

"Shut up, Merriner!" Harm thundered. The petty officer immediately held his breath, paling even more, seeming to think that the very last hope he'd had of getting help had been shattered by his uncontrolled behavior. He bit his trembling lower lip.

Harm forced his voice down to normal again. "No one in here is saying you did kill her, Merriner. Or you Quinn." He let his words sink in and waited. This time it was the seaman who first found his voice.

"Help us, ma'am, sir," he pleaded, barely audible, the fear in his eyes underlining every syllable.

Harm and Mac looked at each other. They knew if they asked him to, AJ would allow them to defend Merriner and Quinn, although in the first place they had come to perform some kind of a showing-off prosecution. But the facts had changed. Here were two seemingly innocent young men, imploring them for help in a case that offered more than enough evidence against them. Mac read Harm's unspoken question and gave him a barely visible nod. Harm then turned back to face the accused, his gaze intense and open, thoroughly searching their expressions.

"Petty Officer, Seaman," he began slowly, his voice urging them to be honest, "For the moment I have nothing to consider in your favor, not the slightest thing that could tell me you are innocent. But I am willing to take your holy word of honor to be convinced that you are. I'm offering you my trust and my word of honor as an officer to do anything in my power to clear you of the accusations if you tell me now that you didn't kill the girl. But I warn you. If I find that you betrayed my trust and honor - as well as Col. Mackenzie's for she, too, will stand up for you - I will personally see to it that you will face the full consequences of your deeds. Do you understand me?" He let his gaze wander from one to the other and back. The young men nodded.

"Yes, sir," they said in a low voice, deeply impressed by Harm's speech.

Harm took a deep breath and asked the decisive question: "Petty Officer Merriner and Seaman Quinn, can you, with a clear conscience, give me your holy word of honor that you didn't kill the young woman that was found in the canal?"

"I give you my word of honor, sir, that I didn't kill her," Merriner answered solemnly.

"And I, too, give you my word of honor that I didn't do it, sir," Quinn added, equally solemn.

Mac and Harm stood as did the two young men. "So it's settled," Mac said. "Given the admiral's permission, we will defend you against any charges that might be brought up against you. Any charges except stealing the gondola, of course."

"Of course, ma'am," Merriner quickly acknowledged. "Thank you, ma'am, sir," he added in a voice that was suddenly loaded with emotion. It conveyed the overwhelming relief that not only wouldn't he and Quinn have to face the U.S. Navy's top lawyers' prosecution, but instead they knew them on their side, doing everything in their power to bring about justice. Quinn came to attention, looked openly at Mac and saluted. "Semper fidelis," he said, pure gratefulness shining in his eyes.

 

The following day
(Sunday, one week and a half before Ash Wednesday)
1146 ZULU
The Venice Questura (police-headquarters)
Near Campo S.Maurizio
San Marco, Venice

 

A really, really p.o.'d Marine lieutenant colonel was pacing in the office of Commissario Amedeo De Carlo who was sitting behind his desk in quiet amusement, watching the scene. 'I wouldn't want to be that partner of hers for anything right now,' he thought.

Mac was beside herself with rage. Forty-six minutes and thirty-seven seconds, still counting. Where the devil was that arrogant pilot-wannabe-lawyer partner of hers??? Harm had been off to the Arsenale in the morning. After having gotten AJ's permission to defend, he had wanted to clear some details of the procedure with their clients. He had promised, p-r-o-m-i-s-e-d, to meet her at 1200 sharp at the Questura, where they were to encounter the police officer that handled the murder investigation from the civilian side. Commissario De Carlo had been on time, rather un-Italian, as he had explained to her with a wink. Well, if he could, why, why on earth couldn't Harm be on time as well, just this once?

Just then Mac and De Carlo heard someone run up the stairs that led to the office, and a moment later Harm stumbled into the room, panting, sweating, covered with something Mac couldn't identify and, just like her, in a very bad mood. He saw Mac's killing glare and blurted out before she could even draw her breath: "Save it for once, Mac, I can explain."

"I only see that you are forty-seven minutes and twenty-eight seconds late," Mac shouted back. She didn't care right now if the commissario heard her or not. She was long past worrying. "What the hell do you think you're doing, leaving us waiting like this, Mr. I'm-a-pilot-don't-bother-me-with-earthly-regulations?"

At this Harm lost it. "Oh, I see, you already know why I didn't show up on time! So, Ms. Always-right-know-it-all-don't-need-to-listen Marine, would you maybe care then to explain to me what the mess I got myself into at St. Mark's is all about? I, personally, don't understand it, so, please, enlighten me! I'm listening!" Fuming, he turned and stopped dead in his tracks when he suddenly remembered that they weren't alone. Embarrassed and cursing himself, he gathered his composure, extending his hand to the smirking police officer.

"Cmdr. Harmon Rabb, Jr. I'm so sorry for being late, Commissario... De Carlo, isn't it? But I got stuck in an incredible... something right on St. Mark's square and I literally wasn't able to move a yard for a full twenty minutes. Can you imagine, people were so close I wasn't even able to get my cell-phone out of my pocket to call you. And then suddenly the bells were tolling, people were cheering and all this stuff came down right on the spot where I was cramped between one of those pestilence doctors and an enormous baroque courtier. Please, tell me, what on earth is this all about?" Harm asked, thoroughly confused, brushing the many pieces of confetti he was covered with off his uniform and out of his hair.

Commissario De Carlo could no longer refrain from laughing. He had watched their heated exchange first with wonder, then with delight and found it too hard not to laugh at the effect a simple carnival tradition could have on two highly decorated U.S. military officers, both with combat experience. "Excuse me, Commander, Colonel, for speaking up 'dus freely, but I 'tink all your quarrels aren't wort' the energy wasted in 'dem," he told them, fighting fits of laughter. Mac and Harm just stared at him, totally at a loss, their differences forgotten for the present.

The tall, gray-haired man with the well cared-for one-week beard finally managed to calm himself, great amounts of humor and good-natured disposition showing in his brown eyes. "What you've come across, Commander, is a century-old Venetian carnival tradition. Nowadays 'dere are too many tourists wanting to watch it, so practically every Venetian absolutely avoids St. Mark's on 'de Sunday 'de carnival is officially opened. You got stuck in 'de so-called 'Volo della Colombina', 'de 'Flight of 'de Dove'. You didn't happen to look into 'de sky, did you, Commander?" he asked.

Harm shook his head, curiosity showing on his features. "No, I didn't. Only when the confetti came down but then I couldn't see anything."

"At noon on 'de opening Sunday," De Carlo explained, " A huge pasteboard dove is drawn on a rope right from 'de bell tower of St. Mark's, 'de Campanile, over to 'de balcony of 'de Palazzo Ducale. And right above 'de square its belly opens and 'de Dove... well... disposes of 'de contents of its tummy, 'dat would be 'de confetti."

Harm stared at him, half amused, half bewildered. "So what came down on me was the paper imitation of something myriads of birds drop every day when they feel nature calling?" He heard Mac snort at his remark. ' Thank God,' he thought, 'She's on her way back to normal.'

"If you like to put it 'dat way, Commander," De Carlo said, again laughing heartily at the JAG-officers' expense. But neither of them felt insulted - De Carlo was one of those personalities you couldn't possibly be angry with as long as they were not angry themselves. "Before we immerge into 'dat sad business we're here to investigate," De Carlo's face sobered for a moment, but then lit up again, "Being much likely 'de eldest of us, I suggest we drop 'de formalities if 'dat's o.k. wit' you. My name's Amedeo."

"Harm," Harm introduced himself, fully agreeing with De Carlo that formalities would only render the investigation more complicated than it already was.

"Mac," Mac held out her hand.

De Carlo took it and looked at Mac in friendly wonder. "You have such a beautiful name, Colonel. Would you mind if I called you Sarah?"

Mac couldn't think of an excuse quickly enough, so she just said: "Sure, go ahead."

Harm felt a slight blow of jealousy. He could count the few times he himself had called her Sarah on one hand. Her given name was very special to him. It felt like a little sacrilege to him to hear her being addressed as Sarah by someone else. It was in this same moment that De Carlo gave a hint at how good an investigator he was. He saw the expression of vexation that for the fraction of a second shadowed the commander's face and he immediately came to the right conclusions.

"No need for bad feelings, Harm," he said in his frank and straightforward way. "I have been very happily married 'dese last fifteen years. No offense."

"None taken," Harm answered sheepishly, wondering just how obvious he must have been. Mac only smiled to herself.

De Carlo sobered. "Let's get to business. 'De report has arrived from 'de coroner." He opened a drawer and motioned for Harm and Mac to approach. He put a file on his desk and opened it, spreading the contents. There were at least half a dozen photos of the victim. Mac caught her breath as she looked at them, Harm felt his stomach tighten. It was a horrible sight. The girl had deep cuts all over the front of her torso and on each side of her neck. The blood had been washed away, but there were still crusts and remnants wherever they looked. But most horrifying of all was a photo of the girl's face.

From a passport photo that lay beside it Mac and Harm could see that Paola Rossi - her name according to police records - must have been a beauty. But on the picture that had been taken where she had been found, practically every inch of her face had been cut, and in such a symmetrical and ritual-like way that the police was sure this had happened while the girl had still been conscious. Mac closed her eyes, drew a deep breath and swallowed. What could possibly kindle such hatred in a human being that he or she was capable of torturing a young girl to such an incredible extent?

"We assume 'dat, at least, she didn't slowly bleed to deat', but 'dat she died from a direct stab into 'de heart," De Carlo stated quietly, his voice guarded but still letting show traces of the burden his job brought with it in situations like these. "At 'de moment 'de body is more 'toroughly examined but 'de coroner is convinced 'dat 'dis knife,",he showed them a photo of a Swiss pocket knife, over and over covered with dried blood, "Was 'de weapon used in 'de killing. Here is 'de report from 'de laboratory confirming 'dat it bore fingerprints of Seaman Quinn, but many more and more recent ones of Petty Officer Merriner. An engraving on 'de knife's handle shows 'de letters of 'P.Q.', and a phone call to 'de USS Cole confirmed 'dat Quinn owned a Swiss knife wit' an engraving of 'de kind. The murderer obviously tried to wipe 'de handle of 'de knife but he didn't do it very 'toroughly. 'De body didn't give us any hints to other persons, no hair, no traces of skin under 'de victim's fingernails. So," he finished with a sigh, "'Dese are 'de facts. You have to admit 'dat it will be a hard job for you to prove 'dat your clients are innocent."

Harm took the police officer's report and tried to figure out some ulterior information from the testimonies of the victim's relatives and friends with the help of his Spanish. "So... Paola Rossi was last seen by one of her friends at 0100. Did I get that correct?"

De Carlo cast a glance on the report and confirmed by a nod and a grunt. A thought crossed Harm's mind. If he was right it could turn out a perfect alibi for their clients, but he had to make sure some other things first. So he kept his musings to himself and instead said: "Mac, I think I need to see Merriner and Quinn again. I have some additional questions to ask. Amedeo," he then turned to De Carlo, "Could I have photocopies of the reports and photos in your file?"

"Of course. I'll see to it personally. If you wait right here, I will have 'dem for you in a minute." De Carlo immediately rose, grabbed the folder and exited the office.

"Wow. Full service," Mac murmured. Then she turned to Harm, smiling a little embarrassed. "I'm sorry for what I said earlier. I should have listened."

Harm flashed her a genuine grin. "And I shouldn't have lost my temper. Besides," he admitted, grinning, "I probably would have been late anyway. Truce?" He held out his hand and cocked an eyebrow.

"Yep." Mac took his hand and gave it a relieved squeeze, smiling.

De Carlo returned with a new folder in his hand which he handed to them. "I copied every'ting out of my file. If you need any'ting else or if you or I find out some'ting, we'll ring up each o'der, okay? My cell-phone number is on top. I still have yours, Harm."

"Sure, thanks for your help, Amedeo," Harm replied.

"Di niente, Comandante." De Carlo showed them to the door, giving them a little street map on which he had marked a way to the Arsenale that was much longer, but at least didn't come close to St. Mark's.

 

1314 ZULU
Inside the Arsenale
Castello, Venice

 

"Ma'am, sir," Merriner and Quinn echoed as they came to attention, seeing Harm and Mac enter.

"At ease." Harm motioned them to sit. "Just a few questions. Did anyone see you while you were rowing, someone who could confirm you were alone?"

Merriner and Quinn shook their heads. "No, sir."

But then Quinn's face suddenly lit up. "On our way someone called out to us, sir. I think we must have been rather noisy, drunk as we were, fighting with the unfamiliar vehicle and... Alan," he turned to the petty officer, "Where was that where this guy kept shouting until we had passed his house?"

Merriner seemed to try hard to remember. Suddenly, he, too, sat up straight. "It was more or less where this big exhibition place is, you know, the... Palazzo yadada. I can't remember the name, sir. Anyway that guy shouted out to us in English, at least he tried very hard to do so, sir, it was utter gibberish, but we got the meaning anyway, that we should stop making such noise...Grassi, sir. The palace is called Palazzo Grassi."

Mac looked at Harm, puzzled. She had no idea where his thoughts were headed. She resolved to ask him on the way home.

"Okay, noted," her partner went on. "So we now have to find the witness. I'll arrange that you can point out the window to us tomorrow. Another thing. Seaman, do you know how your knife got into the murderer's hands?"

"I can only assume, sir," Quinn said quietly. "When we decided to take the challenge of rowing, Alan, uhm, P.O. Merriner suggested we rid our pockets of all things that could fall into the canal if we went overboard. We told the guys to keep an eye on them until we'd return the gondola. I was so drunk that I had difficulties with my trousers' pockets, so P.O. Merriner lunged into the one on my right side and took out the knife and put it on the pavement along with the other stuff. I guess that's how his fingerprints got on it. After that I don't know what happened to it."

Mac frowned. "So maybe those guys would be able to tell us. You don't remember anything about them?"

Merriner shook his head. "Not very much, ma'am," he said, "They were in disguise and had masks in front of their faces. One was a harlequin and two were in those all-black cloaks with triangular hats and black veils, you see them quite often. The only thing I noted was that one of the masks was really particular. It was made as if you could wear it upside down and your face would change from happy to angry, and it was in some strange deep purple color. But apart from that I don't remember anything."

"That doesn't take us very far," Mac said, exasperated.

Harm rose. "Well, thank you for the moment. We'll let you know what we find out or if we need more from you."

They exchanged greetings and Mac and Harm left the room.

Outside she turned to Harm, curiosity written in bold letters across her face. "What are you up to now, squid? Care to share?"

Harm gave her a thoughtful smile. "Not yet, Mac. I don't have it all straight in my own mind yet. I first have to ask Fred something I think he can tell us. We'll see him anyway at 2100 at the mayor's reception."

Mac bit back a comment. If Harm chose not to tell her, it wouldn't be because he didn't trust her. Maybe he was really still working this out for himself yet. He would tell her when he had.

 

2023 ZULU
Municipio (town hall)
Near Rialto Bridge
San Marco, Venice

 

Harm was getting bored. He and Mac were standing in a corner of a very crowded room, clinging to their glasses of San Pellegrino and waiting for Fred and Claire to show up. AJ was talking to some friends of Admiral Della Rosa's. That left them with each other and to the pastime of watching. Watching everything.

First the room. Harm had to admit it was impressive. Like many representative Venetian palaces it had a very high ceiling, about 20 feet, he estimated. It was made of century-old, dark wooden beams with paintings in-between them. Huge, gold-framed paintings also hung on most of the walls that were covered with satin tapestries. The floor was made of polished stone. Chinese rugs were positioned on the most favorable spots. The furniture seemed to be baroque, sort of. He somehow had the impression it was more recent than it was meant to appear.

Then there were the people. Dressed formal but not letting it affect their attitudes. The Italian seemed to wear Armani or Gucci as if they had been born in them. Had they? Harm wondered. People were talking animatedly, using ample gesturing not only with hands and arms but with their whole bodies to stress the meaning of their statements. Harm thought he might need a little training on that kind of talk - maybe it would make an impression on an Italian judge they might be confronting.

And then there was Mac. Harm admitted to himself that he was watching her far more than anything else. She was stunning. For tonight's reception and the formal dinner that would follow she had chosen a simple dark green silk dress that fitted her body tightly down to her hips and then fell a little loose down to the floor. The décolleté left her shoulders bare and was cut very deep in front. Broad straps held the dress in place just below the curve of her shoulders on her upper arms. A broad dark green shawl was hanging loose from one elbow across her back to the other elbow. She had combed her hair off her face and tucked it loosely behind her ears. When Harm had first seen her, his heart skipped a beat.

Mac was getting quite a few admiring glances, and she enjoyed them, mostly for the fact that they seemed to make Harm uneasy. He was getting protective and she loved being taken care of by him. He was in his mess dress, not dress whites, as this was an evening invitation. But next to his dress whites she found mess dress did not hurt his looks. And she noticed the envious glances she got from some of the women... Well, she didn't mind if they believed she and Harm were an item.

Suddenly she felt Harm tug at her shawl. "Look there are Fred and Claire," he said, obviously happy to see someone they knew. Prumetti and his fiancée had seen them, too, and came over to greet them.

"Good evening, ma'am, sir," Fred said with a wink, knowing they had to be formal as they were in uniform.

"Good evening," Claire echoed, smiling. She was wearing a light blue dress with spaghetti straps and a light blue shawl similar to Mac's. Must be a fashion of some sort, Harm decided.

Mac and Harm greeted their friends and finally began to really enjoy the evening, now that they had someone agreeable to converse with. Shortly after, they were asked to sit at the stunningly set dinner table. Someone had seen to it that Harm and Mac were sitting next to the liaisons officer - Fred. Not that they complained.

Dinner was delicious and abundant. It opened with a 'peperonata', cold steam-cooked and marinated peppers and zucchini, the soup was a 'minestrone', a fine broth with vegetables in it, (Harm was very pleased with the mayor's choice of food so far whereas Mac was beginning to miss the meat), the 'primo' - the first main course - was Milanese risotto. All yellow, it was made of rice, parmigiano and saffron. Then, finally, Mac got her meat, as the 'secondo' - the second main course - revealed itself as veal medaillons with broccoli and potato gratin.

Harm, in a quick movement, shoved his meat onto her plate and, equally quickly, got her broccoli in return. Fred and Claire tried to refrain from laughing. Then, over their little plates of assorted cheese - "to close the stomach" as Fred would put it - Harm seized the opportunity of asking the lieutenant the question that had been on his mind ever since they had talked to De Carlo.

"Lieutenant," he began, "How long does it take to row a gondola from San Zaccaria, you know, where the navy's gondola has been stolen, to Rialto, or to be exact, to the canal it has been found in?"

"About fifteen, maybe twenty minutes, sir, for an experienced gondoliere. Why?"

"Well, the victim in our case was last seen alive at 0100. Merriner, Quinn and the gondola were found near Rialto at 0130. We think we have a witness who can testify that nobody went with them. Would the timing fit?" Harm felt Mac give him a pat on his thigh. He looked at her and found her eyes beaming him an 'I'm-impressed-flyboy' smile.

Fred thought only for a second. "No way, sir. If it was their first time on a gondola and if they were drunk, they'd never make it in 30 minutes. An hour and a half at the very least."

"How can you be so sure?" Mac asked, her eyebrows up.

"The 'Voga Veneta', ma'am, Venetian style rowing, let alone in a gondola, the most sophisticated of Venetian boats, takes very long to master," Fred explained. "I practiced for years to become as quick as I am now. If Merriner and Quinn really went alone it's quite a surprise to me that they got this far."

"Thanks, Lieutenant, that's exactly what I hoped you'd tell me", Harm said with a grin. "Now we would need you to testify that."

"Of course, sir."

"How come De Carlo didn't think of it?" Mac wondered.

"I know the commissario, ma'am," Fred answered. "He is a very good investigator, but he is from Milan and started working in Venice only about a year ago. So it's natural for him to not think of such a Venetian particularity."

"Uh, Mac..." Harm said slowly, unsure how to proceed. What he was about to suggest was weird at the very least. A bit like firing a bullet into a courtroom ceiling, very much his style. Mac looked at him suspiciously as if she suspected him ready to pull another stunt of the sort. "I would like to have a practical proof in hand in court," Harm went on, "You know, a piece of convincing evidence, adding to the lieutenant's testimony."

The pieces were falling into place in Mac's mind. She turned to Harm with a warning glare. "No, Harm, don't even think of it!"

"Why not?" he asked innocently. "We don't know any more of Venetian rowing than Merriner and Quinn did. And if the lieutenant could provide us with a gondola and capture our trip on videotape, we'd have a much stronger point."

"I won't let you ridicule us again in court," Mac snapped, but half-heartedly. She knew he was right. And somehow she was up for a challenge. "Okay, count me in," she eventually sighed.

"I knew you'd say that, jarhead," Harm smirked. "Lieutenant, you don't happen to have a gondola you could lend us? And a camcorder?"

Prumetti had instantly understood Harm's idea. Smiling he answered: "I do, sir, both of them, at my parents'. I'll be expecting you at the Zattere at 0200, sir. You know how to get there?"

"Accademia Bridge," Harm answered. He remembered it from having taken Claire home the day before. "We'll be there."

 

0105 ZULU
Prumetti's house
Zattere embankment
Dorsoduro, Venice

 

'Why did I let him talk me into this crap?' Mac kept asking herself as she and Harm, in training suits, approached Fred's house. She wasn't pleased at the prospect of making a fool of herself on a videotape in a courtroom. But her thoughts were interrupted by Fred calling out to them.

"Harm, Mac, over here," they heard him shout in a guarded voice. As the approached, they saw him standing on the edge of the embankment, a gondola tied to a pole at his side. He was holding a huge oar in each hand. Claire was standing beside him, preparing the camcorder.

"Here we are," Harm stated gleefully. He was looking forward to their little trip.

"Well... Claire start filming... for the record," Fred neared his watch to the camera's lens, "It's February 26th, 0214 ALPHA, I'm Sottotenente di Vascello Federico Prumetti, over there we have Commander Harmon Rabb, Jr. and Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Mackenzie. Neither of them has ever rowed a gondola. What we are trying to prove is that it is impossible for beginners to reach Rialto, starting from San Marco, in half an hour. Responsible for filming is Ms. Claire Farnham. We won't stop the tape, so there can be no accusations we omitted or added anything. As military officers Col. Mackenzie, Cmdr. Rabb and myself pledge our honor to the truth and originality of this recording." Claire let the camera wander to Harm and Mac who confirmed Fred's words with a nod.

"I'll explain the technique to you, ma'am, sir," Fred began. He put one oar down and brought the other into the right position, still standing on the pavement. "You have to push with your wrists flexed in a negative angle, then pull back with your wrists flexed in a positive angle." He demonstrated it, the oar resting on one point on the pavement. "To steer, the man at the oar in the back must push it to the right to go left and pull it more to himself to go right. That's it - theoretically. Try to anticipate the boat's movements so you probably won't fall into the canal."

With that he handed a oar to each of them, and Harm and Mac carefully stepped onto the wildly rocking gondola. 'This is going to be fun', Mac swore silently. Fred and Claire got onto a little motorboat in order to follow them.

"Ma'am, you should go to the front and you to the back, sir," Fred advised them. They balanced to their positions and put the oars into place, Mac just missed going overboard as a wave caused by a passing motorboat hit the gondola. "F...antastic!" she hissed.

Harm meanwhile was beginning to regret his plan. He was fighting hard to take a firm stand, several feet high above the water. But he was determined to conquer this. Eventually they had got accustomed to the rocking of the gondola and were ready to depart. Fred began to count a rowing rhythm for them and Mac and Harm tried desperately to take it up without falling into the canal. While Mac's position in the front was merely that of a motor, Harm had to cope with the maneuvering, too, and he soon found the gondola going anywhere but where he wanted it to. At least for the present they were still on the over-large Canale della Giudecca that ran alongside the Zattere embankment, but they had to get to St. Mark's and from there along the Grand Canal right up to Rialto. Heaven knew how they would do that, and how long it would take them!

Mac was beginning to sweat heavily despite the low February temperature and the sea mist that was soaking everything. With every movement she cursed her partner. They had been so nicely dressed, sociable and good-humored earlier. And now this!

Finally, after 20 minutes of hard work, they had managed to reach St. Mark's. Harm steered them in a big circle and they headed in their final direction, into the Grand Canal. Fred let the camera once again see his watch. He was taking care not to come too close to Mac and Harm as his boat was causing waves.

Luckily traffic on the Grand Canal at this time of the night was almost non-existent. They stopped to let pass a lonely 'vaporetto', a swimming public 'bus', and took up rowing again when its malevolent influence on the gondola's stability had passed. By now they had somehow worked out a mode in which they succeeded to gain yard after yard. But Harm still didn't have a clue how on earth he was to steer this thing. They would drift farther and farther to one side of the canal until Fred would tell him exactly what to do to return to their original route. Then the whole thing would start all over again. At the end they had at least doubled the length of their trip by zigzagging across the canal.

Time had long expired. Try as they might, they had - partly against their own pride - proven that for beginners it would be impossible to reach Rialto in the given amount of time. When they finally arrived, panting, dripping with sweat and really upset, Fred's watch showed 0355.

"We will stop the recording now as shortly our tape will expire," Fred said into the camcorder's microphone. "It is 0355 ALPHA and the colonel and the commander have barely reached Rialto. We consider this the practical proof of our theory." With that, he told a freezing Claire to switch off the camera.

"Okay, Harm, Mac, you've done a great job, really. You can get on the motorboat now and I'll take the gondola back home," Fred told them.

Mac laid her oar down inside the gondola and sat down, rubbing her aching back. This sailor of hers owed her big time, she decided. Harm put his oar down, too, and sighed, closing his eyes with relief. That was a mistake. He missed an incoming wave, failed to flex his knees, lost his balance and, with an "aaah" and a loud splash, ended up in the canal.

He was swearing loudly when Fred brought the motorboat over to rescue him. Suddenly Mac was beginning to feel that this trip had been fun after all. Especially when Claire, with a wink, showed her the red "recording" light on her camera.

 

The next day
0815 ZULU
Hotel Bartolini
Near the Arsenale
Castello, Venice

 

Mac thought she was pretty awake and feeling quite well for having rowed a gondola for hours in the cold mist of last night. She was crouched comfortably in a corner at a small breakfast table down in Bartolini's breakfast room, slowly sipping her latte macchiato, feeling the warm liquid warm her up from inside, closing her eyes and savoring the unique flavor of fresh Italian coffee.

She looked up when she heard someone clear his throat beside her. Harm was pulling up a chair to her side, giving her half a grin. Mac could tell he still hadn't quite overcome his anger that had built up last night when she, out of her exhaustion, had begun to laugh heartily at his expense. But seeing Harm end up in the canal had been a picture for the gods. Even now Mac could hardly suppress a giggle at the memory. Her mouth twitched traitorously and Harm's half-smile immediately turned into a frown. Mac thought she better change the subject.

"Fifteen minutes today, squid," she stated, smiling, only to mentally slap herself milliseconds later as she saw exasperation and new anger flash up in his eyes. 'Great job, Marine, you should go and be a diplomat.'

"Good morning to you, too," Harm answered, his voice guarded, avoiding her eyes. 'One singular, glorious day, Marine...' he swore to himself. This internal clock of hers and her way of always, always getting back at him was beginning to very much get on his nerves. Not to mention last night's events. With a grunt he ordered a cappuccino and silently stared out of the window.

Mac's conscience started to stir. Harm sure had been in a pitiful state when they had finally reached their hotel last night. All wet, exposed to the freezing night wind, he had been shivering violently at their arrival, though always trying not to let it show. Mac began to repent her behavior towards him. She had been laughing all the time, new fits breaking through her efforts of containing herself every time he looked up at her. She became aware that she had totally ignored the fact that he had been freezing like hell and must have felt horrible. Now Mac realized that she was blushing, ashamed of herself, and a feeling of warm compassionate tenderness towards her partner began to well up inside her. If he'd only look in her direction. Then he would see her smile.

But Harm didn't. He kept staring out of the window, frowning, absent-mindedly sipping his cappuccino. Suddenly he put his cup down, quickly lunged into his pocket, just in time pulled out a handkerchief and sneezed. Frowning even more, he blew his nose, put the handkerchief away and turned his gaze out of the window again. Mac watched him more thoroughly. He was a little pale, she thought. He wasn't going to be ill, was he? Concern mixed with her bad conscience and made her feel even more uneasy.

'You love that man and behave like a bitch, Sarah,' she scolded herself. 'Maybe you just don't deserve him.' As this conclusion sank into her mind, she felt her stomach tighten and suddenly couldn't enjoy her latte any more. She had screwed it up this time. Without thinking she reached out to the man sitting beside her, from behind put her arms around his shoulders and gently hugged him. "I'm sorry, flyboy," was all she said, as she let her head rest against his hair, feeling him tense at her touch.

Harm all but choked on his cappuccino when he suddenly felt Mac wrap her arms around him. Unsure how to react, he froze in his position, his heart doubling its beating rate. This wasn't a hug between friends. Mac's touch was tender and... loving? Well, maybe not, but there was an emotional dimension to her simple gesture that left him breathless. He felt her breath on the back of his neck as she just held him without moving, waiting for him to relax, waiting for... what exactly? Maybe just for a sign of his forgiveness. 'Never apologize. It's a sign of weakness,' she had said to him on the admiral's porch. Yet she had just done it. Harm knew, the only way to react would be to let her know that he forgave her. Deep inside he had long since, anyway.

He slowly exhaled and forced his pulse down to almost normal. Then he put his cup down, and, his arms crossed, reached for her hands that were resting on his chest. He had been angry, yes, but he couldn't be any longer. All the compassion he would have longed for yesterday night when he had felt so cold and bad, all the compassion she had denied him then was now flowing with this simple, sincere embrace. Harm remembered few times his heart had felt so much at ease.

Mac sensed the change of attitude in her partner. She felt him relax, lean into her embrace, no longer enduring but returning it. A wave of relief washed over her. All of a sudden she realized what a compromising and private situation they were sharing in public - and, utterly surprising herself, she didn't mind. The only thing that mattered to her was that Harm still seemed to want her friendship, didn't mind her closeness either. So Mac just held on to him.

"I was way out of line yesterday. Please forgive me," she whispered, not trusting her voice.

She didn't see but felt him smile. "Being angry with you feels horrible, Sarah," he answered in a very low voice. "I couldn't keep it up very long anyway." With that he pulled her arms tighter around himself, staying in this position for some never-ending seconds, still not looking at her. But their eyes weren't needed right now.

From behind his counter a little farther off Sergio was watching them. "Datta is 'de influence offa Venezia," he muttered to himself, chuckling under his breath and shaking his head.

"So, what's today's schedule?" Harm asked, carefully wriggling out of the embrace and facing a very embarrassed Mac with a genuine smile that eased the tension.

"Chegwidden was up very early and left the hotel as I came down for breakfast," Mac answered, returning to her latte macchiato, a reflection of her smile still on her face. "He's gone to the airport to pick up Francesca. Tonight's the night, remember?"

"What night?" Harm searched his brain but couldn't make out what she was referring to.

"Un ballo in maschera," Mac pompously cited the title of Giuseppe Verdi's famous opera. "The costume ball."

This time Harm did choke on his cappuccino. He had completely forgotten about the ball. To be honest, he didn't feel too comfortable at the thought of having to dress up strangely and promenade himself in front of other oddly-clad people. He coughed, trying desperately to regain an even breathing. Damn, he must have caught a cold last night. Hopefully it would fully develop only in a few days after they were back in Washington.

"Easy, sailor," he felt Mac's hand on his back and looked up, seeing concern shine in her eyes.

"It's nothing," he managed to get out before coughing again. "Really," he added, panting, when the need to cough had somewhat lessened.

"I can see that. Practice drinking." Mac's voice was full of doubt but she let him get away this time.

"So what do we do about our costumes?" Harm finally asked.

"The admiral told me Francesca wants to meet me at a certain shop at 1130. We're to try on something and rent our outfits there. You and the admiral are to be there at 1300. Francesca said the dress code was..." Mac explained but Harm interrupted her.

"Dress code? With costumes?" His expression was one of pure bewilderment.

Mac had to smile. "Yeah, squid, dress code, like 'black tie' or 'mess dress'. As I was saying, the dress code for tonight is 'costumes of a certain official grandeur, no masks worn permanently, only to be carried on sticks.' Fit for ballroom action, you see?"

"I'm getting the picture," Harm said cautiously.

"Francesca seems to have something in mind for us. But she insists on me trying it on separately. The admiral tells me Francesca says it's more fun when you don't know your partner's costume until you leave for the event," Mac explained.

"Okay..." Harm's voice didn't sound too convinced. "Well, while you're enjoying yourself, I'm going with Fred and De Carlo and our two heroes to look for that witness of theirs. If they are right and someone can testify to having seen them at a favorable time out on the canal the charges might just be dropped... and in addition to that there's the proof we gave them with our little videotape," he added, with a frowning smile, looking into her eyes.

Mac tried. She really did, but eventually the corners of her mouth twitched, her lips quivered and biting them didn't help. All control was lost when she saw a grin slowly spread across her partner's face, widening until he, too, could barely contain himself. They shared one last look into each other's eyes before they burst out laughing at the same moment, Harm struggling as fits of coughing mixed into his laughter, but enjoying the situation all the same.

 

1056 ZULU
On the Grand Canal
Near Palazzo Grassi
San Marco, Venice

 

"I'm really amazed that word hasn't leaked out to the press yet," Harm said, turning to Fred and De Carlo who were standing beside him on the police boat. Merriner and Quinn were standing in front of them, skimming the houses and trying to recognize the window that might belong to their witness.

"When we called Della Rosa about 'de body and 'de fact 'dat we suspected 'de American sailors, he told us to keep it confidential and only give 'de newspapers 'de fact 'dat a girl had drowned in a canal," De Carlo explained. "You know, it happens too often in carnival time when people drink and fall in 'de water. So it was quite easy to conceal 'de rest 'dat would surely have created a scandal, had it leaked out to 'de public. 'De parents, too, were glad to have a way of not having to deal wit' 'de press."

"I'm sure they were," Harm agreed quietly, "Thank you, Amedeo."

De Carlo smiled. "You're welcome. By 'de way," he added smugly with a quick side-glance at Fred who was smirking, "'De lieutenant told me of your little stunt of last night. I'm impressed, Harm. I wouldn't have 'tought of 'dat solution. 'Dough it would be helpful to have some'ting besides 'de video and 'de witness's testimony if we find him."

"It would definitely be nice having other evidence in our people's favor," Harm admitted, "I had thought of that, too, but for the time being what we have or might find now might just work. At least I hope so."

"So do I," De Carlo agreed, "Al'dough it would leave me wid'out a clue about who really killed 'de girl."

"Maybe we should look for those guys Merriner and Quinn met at the bar, sir," Fred suggested.

"I had thought about that, too," Harm said, "But they were in full costume. How could we ever trace them?"

Quinn overheard their exchange. He turned and looked at Harm. "Excuse me, sir, but maybe that strange mask of one of them might lead us somewhere. I really didn't see a second one like that."

Harm thought for a moment, then turned to Fred. "Would that be possible, Lieutenant?"

Prumetti hesitated. "Maybe it would, sir. Depends on the mask. If it really is unique we might find someone who recognizes it from a description and maybe even knows its owner. But such masks are very rare." He addressed Quinn. "What was it like, Seaman?"

"As I told Cmdr. Rabb, it seemed like you could wear it upside down and make it change from happy to angry by doing so. And the color was some kind of deep purple, sir," Quinn answered.

Fred looked at Harm, surprise written all over his face. "Sir, we might just be more lucky than investigators usually deserve to be," he said and then turned back to the astonished seaman. "Maybe the guy with that particular mask was wearing a black cloak and a triangular hat?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," Quinn said slowly.

"But the hat maybe wasn't all black?" Fred went on. Harm and De Carlo exchanged a puzzled glance. Harm then felt a hearty sneeze crawl up inside his nose, turned and grabbed his handkerchief.

"Bless you!" four voices chorused.

"Thanks," came a muffled voice from behind white linen.

Quinn tried hard to remember any details, when Merriner suddenly turned to Fred. "As you mention it, sir, in fact the hat wasn't all black. I had forgotten about that but now I remember. It was black but it had lace attached to it, in the same strange color of the mask. And the cloak, too, around the collar."

"Strike!" Fred exclaimed under his breath, making a fist. "I'm sorry, sir," he added immediately, remembering where he was and with whom.

Harm suppressed a grin. "Did you find out anything, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, sir. I know the guy. His name is Antonio Calvi, and he is a capo seconda classe, a petty officer second class. He works at the Scuola Navale Militare Morosini, the Navy High School, that's called collegio here - college," Fred explained.

"È sicuro, Tenente?" De Carlo asked with upraised eyebrows. [Are you sure, Lieutenant?]

"Quite sure," Prumetti reassured him. "That costume of his is a very old one from Naples. He inherited it from his grandfather, I think, and would show it to everyone but never lend it to anybody. It's got to be him."

"Well, Amedeo, I guess you just got your hint," Harm smirked and got a confident smirk in return.

"Sir" Quinn interrupted him, "That's the window. Up there was the guy who called out to us." He indicated a rather small window high up under the roof of one of the Palazzi. De Carlo immediately told the driver to pull to the shore and let them disembark. They found the entrance that, luckily, was not locked and climbed the stairs to the fifth floor. Harm blew his nose that slowly started to turn red and then rang the doorbell that they estimated should be the right one. A short, thin old man opened the door and stared at the two military officers that were standing before him.

"Ci scusi, Signor... Ferraresi," Fred began, taking a quick look at the name tag. [Excuse us, Mr.... Ferraresi.] "Sono il Sottotenente di Vascello Prumetti e questi sono il Capitano di Fregata Rabb della Marina Americana e il Commissario De Carlo della Polizia. Potremmo farLe alcune domande, per favore?" [I'm Lt. j.g. Prumetti and these are Cmdr. Rabb of the U.S. Navy and Police Agent De Carlo. Could we please ask you a few questions?]

The old man's expression oscillated between frightened and curious. "Certo. Entrate, per favore." He opened the door and let them in. [Of course. Come in, please.]

Harm, with a gesture and a wink, made Fred understand that he would let him do all the talking. If they started to translate every sentence he said the situation would get confusing. Fred introduced Merriner and Quinn and then asked Ferraresi if he had seen them on the gondola. He had. When had that been? Shortly after 2400, because Ferraresi remembered having heard the Campanile toll midnight as he lay in his bed. And only minutes after having turned off the lights, he had heard loud voices out on the canal, shouting something in a foreign language that could have been English. Ferraresi now took a close look at the two uncomfortable young men and then nodded.

"Sono loro. Era incredibile che rumore facevano a quell'ora," he stated. [It's them. It was unbelievable what noise they were making at that late hour.]

"He definitely identifies them, sir," Fred said to Harm.

"Ask him if he would be ready to testify in court," Harm replied.

Fred translated the question and Ferraresi consented, obviously pleased that such behavior would be punished properly. The officers didn't feel the immediate need to correct his picture of the situation. They thanked him and left.

Down on the street, Harm looked at his watch and jumped. 1248. He would be late again. But he couldn't help it, he realized, sighing and again quickly pulling out his handkerchief to prepare for the next sneeze. Fred had described him where he would have to go to find the shop Mac had told him of. He only hoped he would find it quickly, not losing anymore precious time to the insane urban geography of Venice.

"So Claire and I will see you at the ball tonight, sir?" Fred asked.

"Count on it, Lieutenant," Harm answered more lightly than he was feeling towards the event. "What about you, Amedeo?" he asked the commissario.

De Carlo smiled. "I wouldn't miss 'de opportunity to get a good laugh at 'de Venetian high society's expense," he said enigmatically. Harm didn't feel this remark succeeded in cheering him up.

 

1204 ZULU
Venier Abbigliamento Costumi [Venier's Costumes]
Near Frari Church
San Polo, Venice

 

The woman that looked back at her from the mirror was a real beauty. Mac watched herself in awe. Francesca stood at her side, grinning, obviously pleased with her choice for Mac, and she looked stunning as well. They would make quite a pair of princesses tonight, Mac thought, a dazzling wave of anticipation running through her veins as she imagined how Harm might react on seeing them. Seeing her, his partner, turned into a noblewoman...

Mac knew she should have undressed long since. Harm was late but Chegwidden was already waiting outside and even Harm could happen to arrive any minute. But she hadn't been able to tear her eyes from her reflection in the mirror. The change was too amazing. With a deep heartfelt sigh she let her eyes once again wander over the dress and then turned and stepped into the changing room, not seeing the knowing glance Francesca and the shop owner were exchanging.

When she left the shop, the precious dress carefully wrapped in a huge parcel, Harm had arrived and was still panting, trying to blow his nose. She winked at him and made a movement as if she were checking her watch. Harm rolled his eyes heavenward but flashed her one of his dashing smiles that always made her knees weaken. 'Yesterday he wouldn't have stayed so calm at my teasing,' she mused, 'Maybe this morning something between us changed for the good.' She had to collect all of her Marine strength to banish the thoughts that were trying to invade her mind at the recollection of their embrace. 'Stay calm, Marine, you can handle this,' she kept telling herself.

Harm was curious. His heart had skipped a beat when he had seen Mac step out of the shop. Her cheeks were flushed as if she were excited about something and her eyes seemed to have a little extra sparkle. Not to mention the smile that was lighting up her face from inside. 'She is so beautiful,' he thought once again, longing to gather her into his arms but resisting the urge. He, too, remembered vividly the unexpected moment of tenderness they had shared that morning. The memory made his stomach go crazy.

"Been successful, jarhead?" he asked lightly.

Mac beamed at him and Harm thought he was going to lose himself in those eyes of hers. "Yep. Just wait and see, squid." She gave him a wink and, saluting the admiral, left to walk to their hotel. Harm thought she was more hovering than walking.

"Commander!" AJ thundered.

Harm jumped, realizing that he must have missed his C.O. addressing him more than once. "Yes, sir, I'm sorry, sir," he stuttered.

AJ couldn't help smiling. After all, he had been waiting for so many years now to see his 'children' get together, chain of command or not. If only Rabb had the guts to tell her!

"You'll see her soon, son," he said to a blushing Harm. "Now let's get to business." He took the uncomfortable commander by the arm and they entered the shop.

Francesca greeted Harm warmly. She had been briefed by AJ that her task might be more like helping those two officers of his work things out between them. At first she had felt a slight pang of disappointment, having to think of Harm only as a friend, but when AJ had told her just what Harm and Mac had been through since Francesca had last met them, she had decided that bringing them together was a mission worth partaking in.

"So, daughter, what do you think you'll do to us?" AJ asked, obviously not being all too enthusiastic, either, at the prospect of having to go out in costume.

"I thought you might feel more at ease if you went as yourselves, sort of," Francesca explained. "As Mac and I chose to wear Napoleonic Empire style, Signor Venier procured the fitting things for you two. You'll be just perfect," she said, grinning in anticipation. She opened the curtain of one of the small dressing rooms and took out two Royal British Navy uniforms of the 1810's, white knee-long trousers with white silk stockings, navy blue uniform jackets with golden epaulettes, two for AJ who also had other rank insignia attached to his jacket, and only one epaulette on the right shoulder for Harm, representing his current rank.

Much to Harm and AJ's dismay they would have to wear slippers - Francesca wouldn't listen to their pleas for boots. Mess dress in those days would mean slippers, she explained, and there was no way of going to a ball with riding boots. The black capes and the Napoleonic covers were cute, though. And they would have real sabers. Harm and AJ exchanged a look, grinned, shrugged and went to change.

When they stepped out of the changing rooms they looked at each other, shared a hearty laugh, but then scrutinized themselves all over again in the mirror and suddenly found they didn't look too bad after all. And those slippers were surprisingly comfortable. 'A good career and comfortable shoes,' Harm thought, smiling to himself. 'Maybe tonight I'll be courageous enough to talk to my nice girl, too.'

"You look just great, both of you," Francesca stated, admiring the two tall men. "All the Italian ladies will go wild for you," she added with a wink.

Harm didn't care about the Italian ladies. He just looked at the reflection of the British navy officer that stared back at him from the mirror, hoping he would make a worthy companion for a certain Marine who would surely be the most stunning woman of the whole assembly.

 

1845 ZULU
Hotel Bartolini
Near the Arsenale
Castello, Venice

 

Hearing a knock at the door, Mac quickly grabbed her cape and mask and deposited them where she wouldn't forget them later. Then she hurried to open and had to smile as she saw Harm dressed in an early 19th century British Royal Navy uniform, the fitting Napoleonic cover in his hand, together with a black mask on a stick. A saber hung at his left side.

"Come in, I'm finished in a minute." She closed the door after he had stepped in and mockingly looked him over. "Cute, Commander." She grinned.

Harm smiled back a little uncomfortably. Then he took a close look at Mac and stared in awe. He had seen her beautifully dressed on many occasions, but tonight was far from anything he had ever seen.

"Wow! Mac, this is... this is incredible! This dress just seems to be made for you!"

Now it was her who was beginning to feel uneasy. She hastily started to arrange the many folds of her Empire style dress. It was made of dark red chanton silk and had pearl white lace applications at the ends of its semi-long sleeves and around her deep décolleté. Around her neck Mac was wearing only a single string of pearls which were the same as were attached around her body, directly under her bosom, from where the long folds were hanging down. But what was most amazing of all was her hair. Harm just stared at it for some minutes, slowly walking around her to admire it from all sides. "How on earth did you do this?" he finally managed to ask.

Mac had pinned her hair back from her face as if it were long and had covered the upper part of her head, where the strands ended, with a broad dark red silk ribbon, thus hiding the pins. At the back of her head she had attached a dark brown false braid, artfully wound up with pearl pins in it, leaving out only single strands which curled loose down to her shoulders. The illusion was perfect. She smiled, embarrassed, but also content that her trick seemed to work.

"Chloe showed me once how to do this with her hair. I just hope the fake braid won't fall off."

Harm again looked at her and seemed to measure her with his eyes. "You are so beautiful," he said in a low voice. Their eyes met and held for a long tense moment until she finally smiled and broke the contact.

"We'd better go, sailor."

"As you wish, my lady, I'm your humble servant." Harm grinned, imitating a strong oxford accent.

"Kidder!"

They put on their capes. Mac carefully placed her hood on her head, trying not to destroy her artwork. Harm struggled a moment with his cover until he had found an angle in which it stayed on top of his head. Then he offered her his arm and they went downstairs. As they crossed the lobby they tried to ignore the other guests who openly stared at the couple. Only Sergio wouldn't let himself be passed in silence.

"Comandante, signorina, 'dis is sooo beautiful! Pleas' letta me take a photo!" He quickly dove under his counter and fetched his Polaroid. "You know, I keep it ollways reddy forr 'dere are so many tourists 'datta 'ave soo wonderful costumes!"

Harm rolled his eyes upwards but then put on his sweetest flyboy smile and made Mac stand by his side. Of course, some other guests at once took photos of their own. After two minutes of grinning and posing, Harm and Mac smiled their goodbyes and fled to the door.

Outside it was dark and foggy. As they rushed along the narrow streets Mac felt like she had been transferred into the settings of a movie. All seemed so unreal. Harm's long steps made his cape flow behind his back and made him look like a somber pirate rather than her well-known friend. She still held his hand, glad for her long pearl white silk gloves as it was rather chilly, but she had to follow behind him for the streets were too narrow to go side by side. As she looked at his dark backside, Harm seemed like a stranger to her.

On the broader street that led to the Arsenale he slowed down, turned, smiled to her and again offered her his arm. She shyly took it, avoiding his glance. All this felt so odd. Harm was the perfect image of a 19th century officer and gentleman, his behavior fit seamlessly with his looks. If she wouldn't have