Vengeance, Served Cold

JAG Virtual Season 2004 Finale

Author: Daenar
Disclaimer: JAG is property of Belisarius Productions, CBS and Paramount Pictures. No copyright infringement intended.

Rating: 12+, partly 16+
Category: Virtual-Season Finale, Action, Drama, Romance (H/M)

Spoilers: The TV show up to and including the whole of season 9 plus all previous episodes of the 2004 JAG VS.

Summary: Harm has to face a particular aspect of the aftermath of his actions in Paraguay that he didn't expect to resurface. Battling with guilt and remorse, he suddenly realizes that he is to become the bait in a bigger scenario...

Author's notes: A huge thank you to all faithful VS readers - for following through up to this point and for sending such terrific feedback to all of us authors! It's been a pleasure writing for you!

Concerning the ep: the phrases in [[ ]] are meant to be subtitles. [( )] indicates TV comment.

Huge thanks to my pals SC, AG, and Kat, for continuous fruitful (and entertaining!) contents discussion. And - you can guess it - big hugs once again to Heather, my adorable beta-reader!

**********
VENGEANCE, SERVED COLD - 2004 JAG VS finale
**********

[DJE's voice from the off:] Previously on JAG...

In front of his building, Harm stopped, bent his head back, closed his eyes and simply stood there for a few moments, not wanting this evening to end. This was as close to perfect bliss as he'd ever gotten. You couldn't just go home and go to sleep like every other night.

His dream of five years - and probably even longer - was about to become reality. And not just in the near future. Their future was due to start tomorrow at 1000. He'd still need time to process this fact.

Finally, he shook himself from his daze, laughing softly about his lovesick behavior, and fumbled for his key when he suddenly felt a small, hard object being pressed against his back.

"No se mueva," an unknown voice ordered.

[[Don't move.]]

Harm froze and without thinking slowly raised his hands to his head. A hand roughly grabbed his right forearm and yanked him around until he faced his attacker.

A mid-sized young man with dark hair and Hispanic features was pointing a gun at him, his face distorted with rage.

"What do you want?" Harm managed to say, willing himself to let the commander get the upper hand over the civilian, but failing.

"Me llamo José Bragado. Quizás usted se acuerda de mi hermano. Estoy seguro que se acuerda de matar a él!"

[[My name is José Bragado. Perhaps you remember my brother. I'm sure you remember killing him!]]

 

**********
Opening Credits
**********

 

'Dammit, get a grip, Commander!' Harm furiously ordered himself, careful not to move. "I don't know anyone by the name of Bragado," he said carefully.

The other man only stared at him, uncomprehending.

Silently swearing, Harm searched the farthest corners of his brain for his remaining Spanish. "No... uh... no conozco nadie que se llama Bragado," he repeated slowly.

"No necesitaba conocerlo para matar a él!" the man spat. It was obvious that he was barely controlling his rage.

[[You didn't need to know him in order to kill him!]]

"Who was he?" Harm asked. "Quién era?" He hoped any details his attacker might be willing to offer could point him into the right direction as to where all this was coming from. Right now, he had no clue - and that might prove deadly.

"Se acuerda de escuchar el ruido de una nuca que se rompe, verdad?" Bragado asked furiously, nudging the gun into Harm's stomach. "Se acuerda como se rompó en sus propias manos?"

[[You remember hearing the sound of a neck breaking, right? You remember how it broke in your own hands?]]

Harm involuntarily shuddered as the recollection of this particularly sickening sound broke into his conscious. Within milliseconds, one piece of memory began adding to the next and suddenly, Harm knew what his attacker was talking about. The Chaco Boreal. A hacienda out in the wilderness. Guards armed with MPs. The painful knowledge that Mac was about to be tortured. He and Gunny coming to the rescue...

In the wink of an eye, Harm's mind was clear. "No era su hermano," he said slowly, trying to shut out the sharp sting of remorse. "Era... umm... Muslim... uh... Allah... uhm" He stopped, lost.

[[He wasn't your brother. He was... ]]

"Mi hermano se hizo musulmán porque admiraba a su jefe! Y ahora deje de hablar y venga conmigo!" Never lowering his weapon, Bragado grabbed Harm's arm and started dragging him away from his door.

[[My brother made himself a Muslim because he admired his boss! And now you'll stop talking and come with me!]]

Harm carefully tried to free his arm. "Wait, we need to talk," he said, his voice soothing. "Tenemos que hablar."

"Silencio!" Bragado thundered, his eyes glowing unhealthily. "O usted no volvera nunca más a ver a Sarah!"

[[Silence! Or you'll never see Sarah again!]]

Harm started, his heart thudding painfully. "What have you done to Mac?" he shouted, his previous self-control gone in an instant. "What did you... aaarghh!!!"

The loud noise of gunfire made his ears ring furiously, and the fiery-hot burning in his right shoulder had him stumble backwards against the door, clutching his clavicle with his left hand. He felt his blood streaming out from under his hand, soaking his shirt and jacket, and he couldn't seem to get his breathing under control. His involuntary quick, hard gasps seemed to tear his body up from inside, but his lungs were screaming for air as if it could lessen the pain. Harm couldn't slow down his respiration, try as he might.

"Vámonos!" Bragado ordered, obviously satisfied as he saw his adversary so reduced. He seemed to enjoy the choked yell Harm let out when Bragado again grabbed his forearm and yanked him away from the door.

Feeling a new surge of panic, Harm felt himself getting dizzy. The hard throbbing in his shoulder still made him pant like after a 20-mile run, but every intake of breath was cut off by a muscle contraction caused by the same intensive pain that had induced it in the first place. 'Stay awake! Focus! Think of Mac!' Harm silently yelled at himself, Mac's angelic face when they had said goodbye hovering in front of his inner eye like a Greek icon.

"What have you... done to her?" He forced the words out, barely able to catch his breath. Panting and still holding on to where the bullet had hit him, he fought the menacing darkness off, once, twice, a third time... but the fourth time was one too many. His last conscious thought the moment he passed out was, 'I broke my word never to be caught unawares again. I broke my promise to Mac...'

 

**********

Come to see a new cultural highlight this fall: the 1st annual Falls Church Modern Shakespeare Festival!

Experience the Bard's plays as you've never seen them!

Coming up: Harmlet, Prince of La Jolla

Caught up in his desire to avenge his father's death, Harmlet shuts love out until the woman holding his heart is doomed to join the Central Intelligence Asylum. To fly or not to fly - that is the question.

Tickets: www.JAGspeare.com

**********

 

Friday
1023 Local
Mac's apartment
Georgetown, D.C.

 

Sugar Brown or Bordeaux? With both lipsticks, Mac drew bold lines on the back of her hand and tried to picture the effect in combination with what she'd chosen to wear. The caramel stretch dress and pearl white silk shawl bore an elegant touch of understatement. So theoretically, sugar brown would match the style perfectly. On the other hand, Mac was well aware of the sensuality of her lips painted the color of red wine. Recently Harm had always had 'that look' in his eyes when she had worn this specific shade. A look as if he longed to devour her on the spot and make her his completely.

A concept Mac found breathtaking right now. To say the least.

On the other hand, she knew she needn't really worry about having to seduce him. After what had transpired between them the night before, she was as sure as could be as to where she was going to spend the next few nights.

In his arms - and not in the least innocently. No need to convince him any further that they were doing the right thing. He had been pretty clear about that. So why worry about putting on the most sensual lipstick possible? But still... the Bordeaux one matched the color of the silk lingerie she wanted him to see on her. She felt the glossy material on her skin underneath her dress and had difficulties keeping her cool as she pictured Harm's face when he'd lay eyes on her tonight.

This was the moment Mac made her decision. Bordeaux it was. Content, she painted her lips, took a step backwards and gave her make-up a last once-over. A smile - confident and shy at the same time - began to light up her features. 'Harmon Rabb, you won't regret this,' she silently promised.

However, now the distraction of doing last-minute artwork was over, Mac's joyful anticipation began to cloud. 29 minutes. Harm and she were about to make good on their deal, and he was half an hour late. Somehow this wasn't exactly the state of mind Mac had expected him to be in today. Could it be that she was still projecting too much of her own feelings into his soul? Maybe he wasn't...

"Stop it, Colonel!" Mac yelled at her reflection in the mirror, fighting off the nagging doubts. Harm loved her. Just as much as she loved him. He was just being... well, himself. Shaking her head at herself, grinning, Mac left the bathroom, placed her travel bag near the door and then went over to the movie shelf and selected a DVD.

Moulin Rouge. While she was waiting for Harm to turn up, she could as well get into the right mood for a romantic weekend. Harm would probably arrive even before Ewan McGregor got to know Nicole Kidman. Tucking her feet underneath herself and sighing contently, Mac pushed the 'Play' button on the remote control.

**********

Ewan McGregor had come to know Nicole Kidman. Colorful pictures of orgiastic theater scenes were unfolding on the screen, but the gorgeous music accompanying them was lost to Mac.

1117.

1117, dammit! And not even a call, or a text message, "Hey, sorry I'm late." Nothing.

Harmon Rabb was more than an hour late for their most important date of all time, and he didn't even call.

Shaking - not with anticipation anymore, but with pure fury and disappointment - Mac finally pushed herself up from the couch, winced when the blood shot back into her legs that she'd sat upon, and switched the DVD player off. Then she dialed Harm's number on the phone.

["You have reached Commander Harmon Rabb. Please, leave a message."] - Beep.

Angry, Mac slammed the receiver on the table and reached for her cell phone. "You better be there, or you might regret it," she mumbled as she pressed the speed-dial.

["The person you have called is temporarily not available."]

Okay, this was it. Mac was hungry and she needed a good, strong coffee, but she didn't feel in the least inclined to busy herself right now with bagatelles of the kind. So, even if Harm should turn up now, it wasn't anything of her concern. She wouldn't be home. Period.

Grabbing her jacket, purse and keys, Mac left her apartment and slammed the door shut. That damned squid would have some large-scale explaining to do. And it would take more than just an apology to make up for this one.

 

Friday
1252 Local
Unknown Location

 

The third time his conscious neared the point to emerge from oblivion, Harm made an extra effort and finally succeeded. Slowly his surroundings came into focus and the foggy forms reorganized to a small basement room with concrete walls, a minuscule window up high on one side, an old washing basin and a mattress he was lying on. From the sunbeam that fell through the window and made the dust particles dance, Harm suspected it had to be morning or noon, but that was already as much orientation as he could hope to get from what he perceived.

A basement of some sort, a sunny morning and the fact that it was unbearably hot and humid, even down in this concrete dungeon. Definitely more tropical than D.C. even on an exceptionally warm day. He had to be a good deal farther south.

A groan escaped his lips when he tried to prop himself up on one elbow, only now remembering the shot wound in his shoulder. Looking down on his shirtless chest, Harm saw that the wound had been treated. A tolerably clean bandage had been wrapped around his torso and upper arm, and a slight smell of disinfectant lay in the air. Inspecting his left arm, he found the marks of a recent infusion in the pit of his elbow. Whoever had shot him hadn't wanted him to die.

Whoever had shot him... Harm found he had difficulties remembering what had gotten him into his present situation. Scenes were meandering through his mind, fleeting images, a few noises, and pain. A car. An airfield. A small plane. Several people. He suspected the blood loss had had him come to and drop out again in continuous alternation. The only thing he could definitely cling to was his memory of Bragado's face - and his dreadful accusation regarding his brother.

'Estoy seguro que se acuerda de matar a él.' - I'm sure you remember killing him.

Harm couldn't deny it. If the Muslim guard whose neck he had broken trying to save Mac really had been Bragado's brother, then the young man was right. He was his killer. All over the past year, the recollection of the sickening sound of the bones giving way to his force had repeatedly caused him nightmares. Here was definitely something he hadn't worked through in full yet.

As a soldier, Harm had always been aware of the blood on his hands. It was the ugly part of the job, the side the recruiters didn't talk about. Having to take lives - and be it for the just cause - was something he had had a hard time learning to live with. Eventually, he had succeeded, knowing and accepting that every war was dirty, no matter which side you were on. And Harm had known that nevertheless, the military was his life. The life he had chosen of his own free will, the life he believed in.

Yet, with Paraguay, everything was different. Only days before going, Harm had closed this very door in his life, had left the military, again of his own free will. Again, going to South America, he had known he was fighting for something he believed in. However, the awareness that this time, every life lost had been taken on the basis of his own, entirely personal decision, had erased the soothing distance of 'serving the just cause'. This time, he was to blame. And he alone.

The stinging in his soul warred with the throbbing in his shoulder as if the mental and the physical wounds were trying to determine which of the two would break him first. It wasn't the first time that Harm couldn't help asking himself if he had been too selfish in going after Mac. Could one really go about and do whatever was necessary, just to make sure the person one cared about most was safe? Who was he to choose one human life over another if not in a situation of ultimate self-defense? Could he have found another way to save her? Shouldn't killing be the last option?

Whenever Harm's doubts had reached this point, they had immediately vanished. Not because he was suddenly sure to have done the right thing, ethically speaking. But because of the simple truth that knowing Mac was being tortured had ridded him of any capacity to maintain his sense of judgment. Even if he had wanted to stay rational, Harm knew he couldn't have. Mac had once drawn his character in one phrase, back in Russia:

He was being driven by emotions.

When it came to people he loved, he couldn't help doing whatever was necessary. He had to admit to himself that when his heart was involved, for him, the end did justify the means. This fact was where his constant tendency of self-incrimination lay rooted. It was the one black spot on a character that was otherwise following ideals that Harm knew he was entitled to be proud of.

Over the years, Mac had been the controlling antipode to this fatal trait of his personality. When everything, everyone else had failed, she had known how to keep him down to earth and true to his standards. Harm knew that if there was anyone who could find the right words to help him come to terms with his guilt, it would be her - because she knew him like no one else did.

Drawing a deep breath and wincing at the pain the movement inflicted in his shoulder, Harm felt just how much he was longing to have her with him right now. True, she couldn't make his actions undone, but she would sustain him when he had to face the consequences. Where might she be? What was she doing? Harm glanced at his watch.

For a few seconds, the time he read was just an impersonal number - until he gasped when the recollection finally hit him. Mac was awaiting him right now to come pick her up for the most important date of their lives. He was almost three hours late.

Just yesterday, Mac had been ready to take the decisive step into a future together with him. Probably even half-expecting him to pronounce what he had planned on asking her tomorrow. And now he had stood her up. After the countless times when he had drawn back at the decisive moment.

Harm needed a few seconds to fight the paralysis of shock. Then, gritting his teeth, he pushed himself up and began to search the room for his belongings, his immobilized right arm and the steady pain slowing him down in an agonizing way.

'Cell phone. I need my cell phone.'

Frantic, Harm rummaged through every one of the old lockers he had spotted behind the door, the only furniture the room contained besides the mattress and the washing basin, making it look like some deserted changing room. All the lockers were empty. Trying to pull down a wooden box from atop the small metal cupboards and finding it heavier than he had counted on, Harm couldn't balance its weight with his left hand only, and the box fell to the ground, the loud clattering breaking the peaceful silence.

At once, the door was yanked open, revealing an enraged Bragado, a gun in his hand. The young man stormed forward, and before Harm had the possibility to shelter himself adequately with his one mobile arm, Bragado had struck him down with a forceful left hook, making him fall backwards onto the mattress again. Bragado pinned him down with his weight, yelling something over his shoulder in rapid Spanish. His injury prevented Harm from struggling too hard against his captor who had an iron grip despite his slight stature. So he simply gave in and awaited his fate. Right now, he had no means by which to win this battle.

A woman about Bragado's age came in, carrying a first-aid kit and a small bag. She quickly disinfected a spot on Harm's left arm and pulled out a syringe with a hypodermic needle.

'Not again...'

"No drugs!" Harm yelled, struggling but finding himself effectively immobilized by Bragado sitting on his tummy, holding his free arm down onto the mattress with all of his strength. A sharp sting told Harm that the needle had penetrated his skin. He exhaled in defeat, closing his eyes. "What is it you gave me?" he asked, his voice tired. "Qué cosa es?"

No one answered. Harm opened his eyes and met with two hostile stares. 'Dammit, all I want is to know what you just pumped into me.'

"Qué cosa es?" he repeated more urgently, suspecting that his gaze must have turned pleading when he looked at the woman because she turned her eyes away as if she couldn't bear to face him.

"Qué cosa?" he tried again.

Just when he thought that his efforts were in vain, the woman answered. "Es un ligero sedante," she said in a low, reluctant voice, still not looking at him. "Just a light sedative," she added in English, with a strong Spanish accent. "You will remain conscious."

"No hables con el prisionero!" Bragado ordered, slapping her hard in the face.

[[Don't talk to the prisoner!]]

The woman sobbed and held her cheek but remained seated where she was. Bragado rose and turned to leave. In the doorway, he turned and fixated the woman again. "Ninguna palabra, entiendes?"

[[Not a word, understood?]]

She only nodded and began to take off Harm's bandage in a way that told him she was used to tending patients. He let her work in silence, watching her as she bowed over him and inspected the wound on his shoulder. She had to be 30, maximum, probably younger. Her slim figure was wrapped in old clothes that were way oversized. But her poor appearance did little to hide the beauty of her big brown eyes. Harm's chest tightened when in front of his inner eye, her face fused with the icon-like image of Mac that was still shining in his mind.

'Mac, please, trust me. I'm not letting you down. Don't turn away...'

The woman's movements halted for a moment and she held his gaze, a bewildered expression on her face. Harm knew he hadn't spoken aloud, but she must have perceived some of his inner turmoil in his eyes. With visible effort, she forced herself to focus on her task again and continued to clean his wound. Maybe she was his chance to get a hand in the proceedings after all. She seemed to have a gentle disposition.

"What's your name?" Harm tried, speaking very low as he wanted her to know that he knew they couldn't talk openly. "Cómo se llama?"

She threw him a quick glance, half odious, half frightened, then concentrated on her work again.

"Ouch," he winced when she poured fresh iodine on his wound. However, when she looked at him, he forced himself to smile slightly. "Thank you," he mouthed. Obviously confused, she acknowledged with a slight nod, her face still grim.

"My name is Harmon. Harm," he introduced himself after a few moments, still speaking very low. "What's your name?"

Frowning, she met his eyes again, apparently understanding that he wouldn't give in. For a few seconds, she seemed to battle with her conscience, but eventually her gentle character got the upper hand. "Consuelo," she murmured, the word barely audible.

"Consuela?" he asked, not sure he'd heard her right.

She frowned again. "María Consuelo," she corrected him.

"Are you José's sister?" Harm pushed on. "Uh... su hermana?"

Consuelo had started unpacking a fresh bandage but now let her hands sink, slightly unnerved. "I know I have a strong accent, but I understand you."

Harm immediately sensed the opening. "I'm sorry," he apologized with a crooked smile. "Of course you do. So, are you? His sister, I mean?"

Consuelo started wrapping the bandage around his body. "Sister-in-law," she said, giving Harm a hard, meaningful stare.

He swallowed, the sting of guilt making itself known afresh. "God..." he breathed, squeezing his eyes shut and exhaling in resignation, wishing he would find a few adequate words for the loss he had caused her, but knowing the search was to no avail. "I am so sorry," he only repeated, hating himself for the flatness of his words.

As he had expected, Consuelo didn't reply to his statement. But he knew he needed to keep talking if he wanted to establish a connection with her. "Did you convert to Islam, too, then?" he eventually asked.

"None of your concern," she answered coldly.

"I know," he hurried to say, seeing she was starting to put her utensils away. "Just out of curiosity, did you?"

She sighed impatiently and threw a frightened glance in the direction of the door. "No," she whispered.

"But how did your husband accept your role?" Harm pressed on.

"Outside I was a Muslim, in my heart I was a Christian," she said, quite obviously answering despite herself.

"Where did you learn English?"

"I was a housemaid for an English doctor in Ciudad del Este for five years, before I met my husband."

"Did you know whom your husband was working for?"

Unexpectedly, this caused an aggressive reaction. She glared at him as she whispered fiercely, "A good man! Our benefactor! He never wanted anything in return but gave us everything! And you Americans killed him, too!"

Taken aback, Harm forced himself to stay calm despite the hateful memories he had of Sadik Fahd. "He was a terrorist," he tried to explain in a surrealistically gentle voice. "He was planning to kill thousands of people. My... partner and I had to stop him."

"He would never do such a thing!" Her hands actually trembling with rage, Consuelo pulled a ragged-looking wallet out of her jacket and took out a small photo. It showed a boy of about three or four years. "Look at him!" she ordered, whispering. "This is my son Antonio. He wouldn't be alive without Señor Sadik's help! He's got cystic fibrosis and would have died long ago if Señor Sadik hadn't paid for his treatment at a hospital in Asunción! How dare you call him a terrorist?"

It was evident that Sadik Fahd had surrounded himself with people whose loyalty was unquestionable. Apparently, in some cases, he had ensured it by playing the savior in need. Harm knew it would be hard to make Consuelo change her views on Good and Bad in this case. "Where is Antonio now?" he asked, at a loss how to continue the conversation the way he needed to.

"He's right here," came the surprising answer. "Next door, with my old mother-in-law." Consuelo's eyes took up a defiant glow. "Now that Señor Sadik is dead because your... partner... killed him, and now that my husband is dead because you killed him, you will provide for us, Señor Harmon! As Señor Sadik's friends, we would never be allowed to stay here. You will hide us and pay for everything Antonio needs! I don't care how you do it. Just do it. José wanted you to die, but for Antonio, he renounced his revenge. We will be here and remind you for the rest of your life that you are a murderer. And your guilt will never ever be paid!"

Fighting hard not to let his remorse get the upper hand over his sense of judgment, Harm asked, "And how do you think you can you force me to pay?"

Consuelo's eyes bored right into his soul and he had enormous difficulties holding her gaze. "I know you will. Your conscience will make you do everything I want you to."

Although he already knew that she was right, Harm tried to stand his ground. "Don't be so sure," he said, ordering his sense of ethics to be silent. "You don't know anything about..."

In this moment, the door opened again and a furious José barged in. "No hables con el prisionero!" he yelled, making Consuelo jump to her feet and draw back a few steps, her expression terrified. But before he reached her, another voice from the door made everyone fall silent. Its owner hadn't spoken very loud, but his intonation, tinged with the slightest of middle-eastern accents, bore such sophisticated natural authority that no one dared utter a sound.

"Déjale, José."

[[Leave her alone, José.]]

Harm turned his head to see the speaker and felt his blood freeze in his veins. The elegant dark-haired man in the doorway was none other than Zayeed Fahd.

Smiling cynically, Zayeed slowly walked over to the mattress and looked at Harm, who all of a sudden felt utterly defenseless and bared to the eyes of this man, even though Zayeed was still standing too distant to speak of direct eye-contact.

"At ease, Commander Rabb," Zayeed said when Harm tried to sit up. "That's the right expression, isn't it? You're my guest. I want you to stay comfortable. How are you feeling today?"

Harm tried to look his enemy directly in the eye, but a sunbeam penetrating the small window and shining in his direction prevented him from meeting his gaze. "I should have known you were behind all this, Zayeed," Harm ground out through gritted teeth, squinting. "Bragado would never have been able to bring me here on his own. Where are we anyway?"

"Tampa," Zayeed replied readily. "This is all you need to know for now. You see, when you came to play hide and seek in New Orleans you were closer to me than you thought. Odd how fate will play tricks on you from time to time..." He took another three steps until he towered over Harm, looking straight down in his face.

Harm's heart nearly skipped a beat the moment their gazes locked. The distinctly unhealthy glow in the terrorist's dark eyes, combined with the cynical ease of his speech and his seemingly calm demeanor, caused him to feel a sudden surge of horror that caught him totally off guard. Desperately concentrating to even out his breathing, he tried to tell himself that he was just overreacting. That maybe the sedative they had given him hadn't been a sedative after all. That, for whatever reason, he was just freaking out and needed to suck it up.

And yet - the memories were too clearly shaped to be ignored. The last time he had seen this exact same expression had been in the eyes of Clark Palmer.

The distorted intelligence of a psychopath on a crusade for personal vengeance, and the threat of violent Islamic fundamentalism. The lethality of this combination made Harm momentarily lose his focus on the situation. 'God, help me,' he sent a silent plea upwards.

He clenched his fists to have some outlet for his fear and rage about being so utterly at the mercy of his enemy. "Why the whole circus?" he managed to ask. "I know José wants me dead. Why don't you just kill me right away and avenge your brother?"

Zayeed's eyebrows went up a notch. "Oh, several reasons," he replied, inspecting his carefully manicured fingernails, apparently not seeing any need to further elaborate.

Harm pushed himself not to let the conversation drain. Trying to recall how Palmer would have acted in a situation such as this, he nodded. "I see. I guess you want to torture me first?" he challenged defiantly.

However, Zayeed remained unfazed. "Not at all, Commander. I'm not Sadik, in case you've forgotten. Let me tell you why I won't treat you like he used to treat his prisoners. First off, simplicity isn't my style." Harm couldn't help wincing at the similarity of Zayeed's words to what Palmer had once told him.

"Sadik was already quite good at playing the game," the Iranian continued. "But I flatter myself that I perfected our family tactic of reaching our goals with our brains, not our muscles. And secondly, you already talked to Consuelo." He turned to the open door. "Antonio! Ven aquí!"

Small footsteps were heard, and a moment later, a thin, dark-haired boy with his mother's beautiful dark eyes came traipsing into the room, firmly holding on to a teddy bear and risking a frightened glance at Harm. It was obvious that his breathing was labored.

"Right now, his health is quite stable," Zayeed explained, patting the boy's head. "But you should have seen him a year and a half ago. Luckily the doctors were able to stabilize him before his father and my brother were killed." The terrorist's gaze was cruelly meaningful.

"Why don't you continue paying for his treatment then?" Harm inquired just a little insolently.

All of a sudden, Zayeed's eyes turned hard. "Because I want revenge, and you are part of my plan," he slowly answered. "I'm not really interested in you, Rabb, but through you, I can get to Colonel Mackenzie."

Although he had known that Mac would be the center of Zayeed's attention, Harm's heart-rate instantly doubled. "Over my cold, dead body," he replied icily.

Zayeed shrugged. "If I have to. In the meantime... didn't you want to call her and tell her why you couldn't come?"

"How do you know?" Harm's voice threatened to catch in his throat but he forced the words out one by one.

"The usual ways. Bug cars and telephones, copy emails, place people in the right spots... didn't Colonel Mackenzie even tell you about the beggars in front of your house? The Bragados did a great job playacting. And the colonel didn't even notice my other spies that I placed near her building as well." Zayeed's triumphant grin seemed to hold a trace of sick pity for the blind lovers. He handed Harm his cell phone. "Come on, call her. Tell her you had to arrange for a last-minute change of plans, and that you want her to meet you in front of the Raymond James Stadium tonight at 2100. That's the right expression, isn't it?"

"Forget it," Harm said coldly. "Do with me whatever you want, but I sure as hell won't serve you Mac on a silver platter."

"Oh, no - you will call her," Zayeed calmly contradicted. "Because of this." In one swift movement, he grabbed the boy, covered his mouth with his hand, pulled a gun out of his pocket, and held it to the boy's temple. "No te muevas," he told the trembling child who nodded slightly, eyes wide.

Consuelo let out a low cry, seeing her son being used as bait, but José hit her hard in the face, taking her out effectively.

Obviously pleased with the situation, Zayeed nodded in the direction of the cell phone that he had thrown onto the mattress before pulling out the handgun. "Don't you think you might want to reconsider your options, Commander?" he asked sweetly.

No way out. Harm was keenly aware that Zayeed had apparently observed him and Mac for quite some time. He was sure to know about the way they talked to each other and about what kind of information they'd exchange. It was equally clear that Zayeed wouldn't hesitate to pull the trigger if he tried to warn Mac in any way. If he wanted to save the boy, his only option was to comply with his captor's orders. Fuming with rage and fighting down his worry, Harm wordlessly reached for the electronic device and dialed Mac's number.

 

1411 Local
Minelli's Coffee Shop
Georgetown, D.C.

 

When she became aware that she was trying to read the same article for the fifth time without understanding a word of it, Mac resignedly let the magazine fall into her lap and took a deep, soothing sip of her black 100% Arabica, resting her elbows on the table and holding the cup in both hands.

She tried to tell herself that she was just angry - really angry. But deep inside, a genuine sense of worry had started making itself known ever more. It wouldn't have been absolutely out of the picture for Harm to draw back at the last moment, but leaving her so entirely in the dark about it wasn't in his character at all. If he'd had second thoughts, he would have told her.

He still wasn't reachable on his cell phone, and at his place, the machine kept taking the calls. She had called Sturgis under the pretense of wanting to know something about a case, and had casually asked if he knew where Harm was. But he didn't, either. Mac had decided that if she hadn't heard anything by 1500, she would start applying her investigative skills.

Just then, her cell phone started vibrating on the table before her. Seeing Harm's name blinking on the display, her worries disappeared in a fraction of a second, only to make way for her accumulated rage. She drew a deep breath to calm herself and flipped the phone open.

"I'm listening," she stated without preamble.

She heard him inhale deeply but couldn't tell the difference between a sigh or a shocked intake of breath. ["I'm sorry,"] was all he said.

'That's not nearly good enough, Rabb,' Mac thought furiously. With so little effort to apologize, he wasn't even worth an answer. She waited.

A few seconds passed. Something at the back of her mind told her that he was acting strangely, but Mac pushed the notion away. Right now, she wanted to savor her anger.

["You still there?"] he eventually asked.

Mac let out a cynical chuckle. "Sure. Where would I be?" Again, the conversation halted.

["Look,"] he began hesitantly, ["I know I'm way too late, and I'm so sorry I stood you up, but I couldn't call earlier. You know, I was... uh... I had a problem with the reservation I made and, um, I needed to, uh... to..."]

"This is so pathetic, Harm," she cut him off icily, disappointment calming her temper and settling like a piece of rock in the pit of her stomach. "If you want a way out, just tell me. But don't give me some made-up bullshit you didn't even rehearse."

["Wait a second, Mac,"] he immediately contradicted, sudden sadness ringing in his voice, giving Mac a hard time to keep her distance as she'd sworn she would. ["You're getting this completely wrong. I..."] He sighed but resumed his speech before she could interrupt him. ["I had reserved a hotel room in Tampa for the weekend. Something special my mom told me about. But this morning at 0830 they called and told me they'd, umm, they'd suffered an electricity breakdown due to a heavy thunderstorm last night.

"They needed me to come down and, well, check out if a room in their other house would do for the special things I had planned for us. I got on the first plane and couldn't call you before takeoff. Believe me, I'm so sorry. But,"] he hurriedly continued when she drew her breath to answer, ["If you take the next flight down here, I'll be waiting for you in front of the Buccaneers' stadium at 2100, and we can still save the weekend. What do you say?"]

Did he really think she would buy a lie as blunt as this? Mac felt tears of rage sting in her eyes and desperately tried to keep her voice stable. "Did you go terrorist hunting again?" she only asked.

["Mac, please,"] he pleaded, ["I'm not making up things. I'm sorry the weekend didn't quite go as I had planned, but nothing's lost yet. Take the next flight out and you'll see."] The degree of anxiety in his voice was slightly unsettling, but Mac swore she wouldn't give in.

"Maybe I would if I knew I could trust you," she said calmly. "But I can't. I'm sorry, Harm." She quickly flipped her phone shut, before she could let him convince her to comply after all. Then she left a little money on the table, rose, grabbed her purse and left the café at a quick pace, holding her tears at bay until she was several hundred yards away.

**********

Needing to work off her emotions, she took long detours on her power-walk home, all the while battling with the little voice in her head that kept telling her to take a cab to the airport and look for a flight to Florida. Every five minutes, her cell phone vibrated in her pocket, and more than once she was about to respond. But she managed to hold herself back at the last moment. She did have her pride, after all.

However, when the phone came alive yet again when she was fumbling with her key in front of her apartment door, Mac surrendered. Seeing that her cell's display read 'Harm' again, she forcefully hit the answering button. "What?" she asked, unnerved, pushing her door open and slamming it shut behind herself.

["So this is what you Americans call true love and devotion?"] a low, honeyed voice asked.

The memory of an all too similar voice hit her like a bolt of lightning. A pair of eyes seemed to stare at her from under a ludicrous blond wig. The eyes of a man dying because she had just executed him. Gasping at the impact of horror, Mac stumbled forward and sought for support on her couch's backrest. With a loud clatter, the cell phone fell to the floor.

Panicking, Mac dove to retrieve it, but the line was dead. "F***!!" she yelled, frantically trying to find the caller's number in the incoming-calls registry. But as could have been expected, the caller hadn't sent his ID along. Sobbing and trembling, Mac broke down on the floor, unable to pull herself up again. Months after his death, Sadik Fahd still had power over her.

And now, Harm was in his brother's hands. The thought, combined with the tidal wave of buried nightmares the voice had loosened, was too much to bear. "Harm, I'm sorry I didn't trust you, I'm sorry," was all Mac kept whispering to herself.

Seconds seemed to stretch into hours. However, when the cell phone vibrated once again in her hand, Mac's mind was suddenly crystal-clear, and her sense of timing told her that only three minutes and 15 seconds had passed since she'd first heard the voice that had started it all. With a silent prayer of thanks to the Corps for shaping her mentality, Mac sat on the couch and responded.

"Lieutenant Colonel Mackenzie." Somehow, using her rank made for an extra dose of security.

["In your culture, I think you say, 'Nice getting to know you',"] the dreaded voice said, instantly electrifying her again, but this time she was prepared.

"Probably," she answered, wanting him to take the rudder of the conversation.

["But I can't do that,"] the caller continued. ["Allah tells us not to lie."]

"And as a terrorist with a clandestine life, you obviously never do, Zayeed," Mac replied, adapting her voice to the calmness of his speech.

["As a warrior of Jihad, Allah grants you certain... well, let's say liberties with his commandments, as long as you're serving the just cause,"] Zayeed said, his velvety tone underlining his cultivated choice of words. Unlike his brother, Zayeed really seemed to be an intellectual extremist - if such a disposition even existed. In any case, he was clearly not a man who was just playing the role the situation required. And it was just this considerate cold-bloodedness, and the courage to step out of the picture of the 'mainstream' terrorist, that did anything but calm Mac's anxiety.

["But let's not waste time with long explanations,"] Zayeed continued. ["You'll need to be indulgent with me, Colonel. I always tend to talk way too much. Commander Rabb is sad that you won't forgive him for standing you up, and he asked me to plead in his favor."]

'You bloody bastard...' Mac bit her lip hard to avoid insulting the terrorist. "So, is he in Tampa, or where did you bring him?" she asked with audible effort.

["Tsk, tsk, tsk... you really don't believe a word he says, do you?"] Zayeed stated, seeming to pity her. ["Real, divine love wouldn't allow that."]

"Don't try to tell me about concepts you don't know anything about," Mac said, disgusted. "Where is he?"

["I fear you're misunderstanding the situation, Ms. Mackenzie. Your position is to answer, not to inquire."]

"Then ask."

["There's nothing I want to know right now. Just this: will we have the pleasure of welcoming you tonight?"]

"Give me a proof that the commander is with you, and that you really are in Tampa."

Zayeed chuckled. ["I have heard that you always try to be tough like a man."] When he continued, his voice suddenly lost all of its calm demeanor and fake friendliness, ["And you even succeeded to con my brother into meeting you like he would a real warrior. Face to face. But if I offer the same, don't think it's out of respect. 'Vengeance is best served cold,' you say, and taking revenge in the same situation that you murdered my brother in will be my infinite pleasure."]

Despair and anger made Mac grow bold. She laughed slightly. "So you threaten me this openly and expect me to turn up just like that? No offence, but you've got to be kidding."

["Somehow I've got the impression that the commander would appreciate it if you could save some time on the trip."]

Mac's breath caught in her throat. Images of car batteries, knives, fists, guns, fire, and even Stingers raced through her mind at light speed. "Are you treating him like your brother treated Webb?" Her voice was suddenly hoarse.

The insolent ease was back in Zayeed's tone the moment he had apparently understood that he had cracked her defenses. ["Not quite,"] he answered. ["As I told the commander, simplicity isn't my style. I tend to be a little more... how can I say... refined."]

"What do you mean?" Mac asked, not sure she really wanted to know.

Zayeed's grin widened audibly. ["Just that when I have the time, and when a case matters particularly - like yours, for instance - I prefer arranging personalized scenarios. For the special enjoyment of everyone involved."] The way he stressed 'enjoyment' rang cruelly in Mac's ear.

Horrifying memories of Clark Palmer's sick penchant for 'the art of killing' began to intermix with the already dreadful recollections Mac had of Sadik, threatening to paralyze her. This game needed to end, and soon. "Do you have a point?" she blurted out. The moment the words hung in the air, she wanted to slap herself, praying she hadn't just added to the danger Harm was facing.

Yet, Zayeed didn't seem to have taken offence. ["I was just coming to that,"] he explained in his calm, almost friendly manner. ["It's a real pity that you haven't known my brother quite at his best. Sadly, as an adult, he abandoned part of his former creativity and began to walk the more practical route when it came to dealing with enemies. However, I pride myself that I conserved my adolescent ardor and artistic individuality."]

Mac chose not to comment that Sadik's game of hide and seek had already been creative enough for her liking. "And what do you do that he didn't?" was all she asked.

["The surprise is part of the game,"] Zayeed replied lightly. ["Rest assured: they've all been unforgettable experiences."]

Mac prayed Zayeed couldn't hear how hard she was trying not to let his psychological drumfire overwhelm her. "If you want me to come you need to be a little more specific than that,"] she said. ["So, how does your artistic motivation affect Commander Rabb?"]

["You're the one asking again, Colonel. But I feel like being generous today."] Zayeed sighed in a way that might have been called 'good-naturedly', had the situation been different. ["Right now, it doesn't affect him at all. I wouldn't want to spoil the fun of seeing you witness the outcome firsthand. But don't be too sure I'll stay that patient."]

Mac decided she needed to play poker, to try and ensure Harm's safety at least until she could directly influence the course of action. "It's going to take me four hours, minimum, to fly out to Tampa," she said coolly, her heart pounding hard in her chest. "The commander may well be dead when I arrive. For all I know, you could already have killed him. I know he'd tell me to stay away from you anyway, and for me, joining you in Florida makes no sense if I'll find him dead. So I'll just do what the commander wants and stay put. I'm sure you can understand that."

The icy silence on the other end of the line told Mac that her bluff had worked and that Zayeed didn't like the outcome. However, he eventually gave in. ["All right, Colonel,"] he conceded. ["Until 2100 sharp the commander is safe. I give you my word of honor. Should I hear from my contact that you haven't turned up at the meeting point by that time, or worse, that you turned up in bad company, I'll personally have a little fireworks party, with the commander as my special guest. You get the picture, don't you?"]

"I need proof that he's still alive," Mac said calmly, feeling everything but.

Rustling in the line told her that the phone was being passed on. ["You have three words, Commander,"] she heard Zayeed tell him in a low voice, a distinct threat inherent not to do anything but acknowledge his presence to her.

["Mac?"] Harm sounded anxious, exhausted, pained, and yet hopeful at the same time.

"Harm! Are you okay?" Mac asked, the words rushing out in a frightened hurry.

["I love you."]

"I love you, too, Harm!"

["I said 'three words'."] Zayeed was back on the line. ["Is he always this contrary? But as I said, I'm being generous today. Colonel?"]

Biting back her tears, Mac swallowed hard. "I'll be there. Alone," she added, to make sure Zayeed knew she was agreeing to his demands.

["I'm looking forward to getting to know you, Sarah. And this time, I'm not lying."]

 

**********

Come to see a new cultural highlight this fall: the 1st annual Falls Church Modern Shakespeare Festival!

Experience the Bard's plays as you've never seen them!

Coming up: As You Were

Surrounded by a ludicrous plot evolving around the Brothers Rabb facing off against the Brothers Roberts in the Forest of Annapolis, 'As You Were' presents us with the respective worldviews of A.-Jaques, a chronically melancholy pessimist, and Coates-alind, the play's heroine whose attitude is kind, playful, and, above all, wise.

Tickets: www.JAGspeare.com

**********

 

1947 Local
Unknown location
Tampa Bay area, FL

 

The sun was gone. A little light was still streaming inside through the small window, but no sunbeams penetrated the dirty glass anymore. It had to be dusk by now.

Harm became aware that he was lying on the mattress again. Consuelo was sitting on a chair nearby, Antonio in her lap. The boy's head was resting against her chest, and he seemed to be sleeping peacefully. Consuelo herself still looked shaken. She had dark circles under her eyes. It was evident that she'd been crying.

Listening hard, Harm could make out the low voices of Zayeed and José, who were apparently discussing plans in the adjacent room. Trying to see if they were closed in or if they had left the door ajar, Harm slightly pulled himself up - only to groan when pain exploded inside his head.

'Oh, right. The baseball bat.' Harm's memory returned in small portions. He had to have the mother of all concussions. Zayeed hadn't been all that generous after all.

Harm took several deep breaths against the wave of nausea that threatened to overwhelm him. Closing his eyes and lying perfectly straight, he still had to wait a few minutes until the throbbing in his skull became bearable again.

Suddenly he heard cloth rustling near his left ear and already wanted to start turning his head, when a gentle but firm hand pressed a cold washcloth to his forehead, immobilizing him.

"Don't move," Consuelo said in a very low voice. "Try to get as much rest as possible. If you want to save Colonel Mackenzie, you're going to need all your strength. Here, this will help," she added, first popping two pills in his mouth and then slipping a straw between his lips. "It's Tylenol," she explained when he hesitated to swallow the medicine.

Grateful, Harm gulped the pills down and thought that water had seldom tasted that good to him. "Thank you," he whispered, leaving his eyes closed.

For a couple of minutes, they were silent again until Harm felt he couldn't hold himself back anymore. He had to know how she did it.

"How can you do this?" he whispered. "How can you look after the man who killed your husband and robbed the boy of his father?"

"You're my patient," was all she answered, her tone noncommittal.

Again he fell silent for a few moments, but he knew he needed to seize the opportunity so he forced himself to speak up again. "What you said wasn't what a nurse would say to a patient."

"But it's true," she evaded the topic. "You need to rest."

"I've grown up without a father myself," Harm pressed on. "And I swear I know what losing the person you love can do to you. And yet, you're here, taking care of me and even suggesting I should go against your brother-in-law's and your caretaker's plans. Why?"

Consuelo's voice grew hard, even though she was still speaking in barely more than a whisper. "Señor Zayeed is nothing like his brother. He is evil. He pointed a gun at Antonio's head."

Harm resolved he wouldn't argue Consuelo's implicit statement about Sadik being a good man right now. She was too shaken up to be open to reason. But he would definitely use the opening that had just presented itself, although he first needed to be sure about where her loyalties lay.

"But Colonel Mackenzie killed Sadik Fahd," he stated carefully. "Why would you want me to save her from his brother?"

Consuelo was silent for some time. Eventually, though, she surprised him with her answer. "I... I'm not so sure about Señor Sadik anymore. He was incredibly kind and generous to us, but... but if people like you chase him for being a terrorist... I don't know..."

Harm was stunned. "What about me?"

With a shaky sigh, Consuelo explained, "You are ready to sacrifice everything that's dear to you, for the greater good. I've watched you and Colonel Mackenzie for some time now. I know you better than you might think. I know how much you love her. And yet, you saved my son's life when Señor Zayeed made you call her. You told her to come so Señor Zayeed wouldn't shoot Antonio.

"I could see that your fear for her was driving you mad, but you put my son's life over your feelings. You were ready to endanger your happiness for the sake of a boy you didn't even know. But you made it perfectly clear that you're ready to die for the colonel. You can't find such unselfish kindness and love in evil characters."

Unselfish love. The words stung. Back in Paraguay, he'd been anything but unselfish. He'd taken lives to save the person he cared about most, not for a moment thinking - let alone caring - about the grief his actions might cause others.

"But you were right earlier," he whispered, hiding his shaky voice. "I will never ever be able to repay my guilt. I've caused you such immeasurable pain -"

"You haven't," she interrupted him.

"But..." Harm stopped his objection before he'd even started voicing it. He was at a loss for words.

Consuelo caressed the boy's head, her eyes studying the small, delicate features. "It wasn't my decision to marry him," was all she explained, never looking up.

"Then why did you do it?"

Her eyes remained glued to her son, her voice lowering ever more. "A young woman leaves her family to move to a bigger town. She works and sends the money home. But one day, she finds herself with child. Don't ask how that happened. She can't continue to provide for herself, let alone her family back home, and she needs to restore the family's honor. The child's father offers to marry her. She has no choice."

Harm was shocked at the revelation - and yet, he wasn't all that surprised. It wasn't as if he witnessed for the first time how women had to submit to unspoken rules of society. "You sacrificed your happiness out of obligation," he concluded in a low voice, careful to keep the tone from sounding judgmental.

His remark had Consuelo look up and face him, though. "No," she contradicted. "It was the same like when Jorge converted to Islam. Outside and inside weren't alike. Outwardly, I did what my father ordered me to. Inwardly, I did what I knew would be best for my unborn child."

A surge of relief ran through Harm's body, but he consciously fought it. He might feel less guilty - but it didn't change what he'd done. "I robbed Antonio of his father," he said, pained. "I would have given anything to know my own father better, and now your boy will never know his, because of me."

"I'm not sure how I feel about that," Consuelo confessed, seemingly despite herself. "Yes, a child needs a father, but... I wouldn't want Antonio to follow his father's example when he gets to know a girl."

"I'm sorry, Consuelo." Harm didn't exactly know what he was referring to. He only felt he needed to say it.

"So am I, Harmon," came her surprising reply, barely audible. "I am sorry I have a part in making you go through all this. But I didn't know what to do anymore."

"Because of Antonio's condition." It wasn't a question. One look in her eyes told him what he needed to know.

"He's getting worse all the time..." Consuelo's voice threatened to break, even though she was almost whispering. "Right now, he's holding up quite well, but his coughing fits keep coming more frequently. I don't know what to do if..." She broke off, sniffling and brushing away a tear with an annoyed movement of her hand. "He's all I have."

Again, the guilt stung cruelly. He swallowed. "Consuelo, I... I would do anything to help you stay in the States. I'd pay for everything your son needs, but... I don't see a way to do it. I so wish I could help, but I can't."

Consuelo drew a shaky breath. "I think I've known all along. And Señor Zayeed isn't interested in Antonio. So the only thing left to do is go back and hope Jorge's friends will provide for us. José and his mother won't abandon me."

Somehow, she didn't sound at all convinced of what she'd told him, and Harm began to see just how desperate her situation seemed to be, although she did everything in her power to be strong. But she knew she would depend on her husband's friends. His brothers in Allah...

Suddenly Harm had an idea. Ignoring the throbbing in his head when he moved, he propped himself up on his elbow and intently looked at her. "Consuelo," he said gently, but firmly, "How well do you know your husband's friends?"

Surprised, she needed a moment to process the question. "I often went to see their wives," she answered, slightly bewildered.

"The Islamic families?"

She nodded.

"Do you understand Farsi?"

Again, she acknowledged with a nod. "Not very much, and I can speak even less. But when Jorge converted to Islam, he started learning, and he made me do it, too, so we would be able to understand our benefactor's friends."

"Did you, by any chance, happen to learn anything about their husbands' dealings?" Harm prayed for a positive answer. It would be Consuelo's key to getting help - and his chance to pay at least part of his guilt.

"Occasionally," she confirmed, bewilderment turning into wariness. "A word here and there, when I was taking them their tea."

"Do you think you would recognize them?"

"Most of them, yes."

Harm felt adrenaline flow through his veins. So close to a solution... "Listen to me," he told her, fixing his gaze to hers and lowering his voice even more. "Do you want to save your son and help us make this world a little safer?"

"I don't understand," Consuelo said, apparently unsure if she should allow herself to hope.

"Look," Harm gently explained, "If you'd be willing to tell the authorities what you know, and testify against your husband's friends, I could place you and Antonio and your mother, too, in the federal witness protection program. You'd need to leave everything behind you, even your family back home. You'd get completely new identities. But you would stay in the U.S. and receive everything you need, including the best health care our country can offer."

Consuelo had paled at his words. "They would chase us."

Harm nodded gravely. "They probably would. But we'd do everything in our power to protect you. And for Antonio, it would mean a real prospect of a next-to-normal life. He could go to school and do professional training. He could grow up to be a man."

By now, tears were slowly trickling down the young woman's cheeks. "I would do anything. Anything, Harmon. If I could only see that happen."

"I promise I will make it possible for you," Harm vowed, reaching out and taking the woman's trembling hand. "When, not if, when we get out of here, the colonel and I will do whatever it takes to make it happen."

Consuelo returned the squeeze of his hand, her tentative smile making her eyes sparkle in a way he had only seen in Mac's. "And I promise I won't be afraid. No tengo miedo, Harmon," she repeated her promise in her own language. "No tengo miedo."

 

2057 Local
Raymond James Stadium
Tampa, FL

 

As the taxi pulled up on the crowded parking lot beneath the enormous concrete structure forming the stadium, Mac was once again hit by the cynical similarity of the scene to what they had staged for Chloe only two days before.

An appointment not kept, one waiting for the other, receiving a call instead, having to come to the other's aid. Two days ago, all had just looked like a good educational joke. Now, Mac unexpectedly found herself in Chloe's position, knowing that the threat was real - just as real as it must have seemed to Chloe.

Punishment from above?

'Chloe, baby, I'm sorry,' Mac silently begged her friend to forgive her. 'Please, God, don't let us pay too high a price for what we did.'

She signaled to the driver to let her out, paid, and stepped on the concrete, waiting in the circle of light a street lamp was creating in front of the main entrance. The driver pulled away, and she saw the rear lights slowly disappear.

2059.

'I'm here, Zayeed. Now show me you're the man of honor you claim to be.'

Minutes dragged by, forcing Mac to fight her rising fear that she might have misunderstood Zayeed after all. Eventually, though, a young man with dark hair and dark eyes, wearing the uniform of stadium security, emerged from the building and calmly walked in her direction.

"Coronel Mackenzie?"

He had a strong accent, and Mac decided to make it easier for him. Whatever sympathies she could ensure on the way to showdown might be helpful. "Yes. I am looking for Zayeed Fahd," she replied in her best Farsi.

However, the man stared at her, clearly uncomprehending. Confused, Mac tried again, this time in English. "Yes, I am Colonel Mackenzie. I'm looking for Zayeed Fahd."

"Venga conmigo, Coronel. Señor Zayeed está esperando a usted." He turned to leave again.

[[Come with me, Colonel. Señor Zayeed is expecting you.]]

Although Mac knew next to no Spanish, she knew she had found the right meeting point. Apparently, Zayeed still used his loyal Paraguayan guards. Mac followed the man to the parking lot again, trying to blend into the happy crowd. It felt odd that not one of the thousands of people who had come to the great Bucs fan gala knew that she was meeting a terrorist contact under their noses.

The young man guided her to a green SUV, Mac climbed aboard, and they drove off. Mac tried to remember the turns they took but her contact drove fiercely, and the route was complicated. His jaw tightly set, he didn't take his eyes from the road for one second, hatred radiating from him. Mac wondered if he might be more than just a guard. Could he be involved in the whole crime? Maybe she should try to speak to him?

But the guy only knew Spanish. With a frown, Mac dismissed the thought. Even if he understood what she asked, his answers would probably not make much sense to her. All she could do was wait and observe the situation.

It turned out her patience wasn't tested for very long. After about fifteen minutes, the man steered the car onto a small side road, leading away from the mostly small and shabby houses they had passed. They had crossed a part of the town that was mostly populated by families receiving social welfare benefits. In between the rows of houses, a few trailers were pretending to be solid homes, too. The whole district was barely illuminated. The moon and the car's headlights were producing just enough light for Mac to make out a few details of their surroundings.

They left the last of the poorly tended lawns behind themselves and before long pulled onto what must once have been a public school playground. Now, the buildings were clearly deserted, most windows broken, grass growing in between the concrete blocks the driveway was constructed of. Clever place to hide a prisoner - any audible proof of irregular proceedings would most probably never draw any unwanted attention. Misguided real-estate transactions could do that to a once-lively place.

Mac had just unbuckled her seatbelt when her door was yanked open, the young man inviting her wordlessly to get out. Wary of her surroundings, she complied and followed him into one of the buildings flanking a neglected football field. Her steps were reverberating from the bare concrete walls, and her guide's flashlight was the only source of light left now.

He led her through a door and down a flight of steps to the basement, apparently once used as changing rooms. Mac tried hard to ignore the little voice in her head that kept telling her that Harm was probably light-years away and that she had just willingly entered her own grave.

A faint shimmer of light emerged from under the door of one of the rooms. The man stopped in front of it and knocked a distinct rhythm. A moment later, the door was opened by a woman about the age of Mac's guide.

When she stepped into the room past her, Mac's eyes for a second met hers. They were big and dark, like her own, and in them, Mac encountered a surprising variety of emotions. Anger - but also a strange kind of sympathy that Mac could only describe as a mixture of admiration and hope that the woman apparently tried to mask. Feeling uneasy, Mac broke the eye-contact. What was it that this woman seemed to be expecting of her? She couldn't be another hostage, or she wouldn't have opened the door to her. Who was she? And what was she trying to hide? From whom, for that matter?

Her guide whispered a few words to the young woman who closed the door behind them. Then the man stepped aside and for the first time, Mac got a thorough look of the room. Her heart started beating wildly. Leaning with his back against the opposite wall, sitting on a mattress next to an elderly woman and a little boy, was Harm, meeting her gaze over the distance and telling her everything she had ever wanted to hear in this single lingering look.

"Salaam aleikum, Sarah."

Mac jumped and turned to where the well-known voice had come from. Zayeed Fahd, clad in a leisurely light suit, was leaning against the old lockers behind the door, observing her and Harm's silent exchange with the hint of a condescending smile.

'Don't panic, Mackenzie. He's just a man, like his brother.' "Aleikum salaam, Zayeed," she answered accordingly, waiting.

Zayeed pushed himself off the wall and slowly walked over to her, signaling the young woman to join the elder woman and the little boy on Harm's mattress.

"I thought you couldn't speak Arabic," he opened the conversation when he was just about a yard from Mac.

"I can't. I just wanted to be polite."

"By saying 'Peace be with you.'?"

"It's what people in your culture do, and I respect that."

For a second, the terrorist's face darkened but he seemed to force himself to stay calm. "You didn't respect my brother when you met him."

"Because he showed so little inclination to respect other people's right to live." Mac wondered where her sudden readiness of mind was coming from but in any case she was grateful she had it.

Zayeed stopped, standing a mere two feet away from her, directly looking her in the eyes. "You're talking about the nightclub my brother was aiming at."

Mac acknowledged with a slow, silent nod, longing to draw strength from Harm's eyes, but knowing she couldn't risk looking at him. She thought she could feel his eyes on her back, though, the look trying to transport confidence.

"Those people stand exemplarily for the society you belong to," Zayeed said. "They deserved it."

"And that's for you to decide?"

Zayeed began to slowly walk around Mac until he was standing right in between her and Harm.

"I made it my mission to help Allah decide."

"That means you know what He wants. Who are you - a new prophet?"

Clearly fuming, Zayeed didn't comment. Engaged in a silent battle of gazes, they didn't speak for a few moments. However, Mac eventually decided she'd had enough.

"So this would be my personalized scenario to die in?" she asked, looking around herself. "Why here? I don't really see anything that's got very much to do with me."

"You're judging from the outside, Sarah. Try seeing the parallels," Zayeed suggested, taking a step in her direction. Involuntarily, she retreated by a few steps.

"I don't see any," she replied coldly.

"Oh, I think you do," Zayeed answered, again taking a few slow steps in her direction and making her back off again in the direction of the wall next to the lockers. "You know, Colonel, when your young friend Chloe left your house yesterday to go after you, she all but ran over someone on the sidewalk. You're free to guess whom. Anyway, I'd been observing you for months already. I knew exactly what you were planning to put the girl through. All I had to do was take the opportunity and bug her. Which I did when she bumped into me."

Zayeed never stopped walking. Mac couldn't do anything but comply and let herself be steered backwards. Like a predator, Zayeed seemed to be cornering her single-handedly, making her heart pound hard in her chest. "I wouldn't have needed to execute my plans this way," Zayeed conceded, "But the opportunity was just too tempting to pass by. I'd found this... location weeks ago, on my tour around the Gulf. Everything was set up, and all I needed was the fitting occasion to push the 'start' button, so to say. With your masquerade, you provided the fun part yourself. I appreciate that very much, Sarah"

Mac had a distinct, threatening gut feeling that there was way more to the picture than Zayeed was ready to reveal just yet, and she needed to know what exactly. Forcing her eyebrows to go up, she tried to appear nonchalant. "So you call 'this' being inspired?" she asked, her tone deliberately incredulous, although she felt that personally, she couldn't care less if Zayeed was acting on artistic impetus or not. "You copy our staged kidnapping and have me take Chloe's role in the scenario? That would be your revenge? I killed your brother, Zayeed. And remember that our theater play had a happy ending. Are you sure this is enough for you to get back at me for what I did?" Mac became aware her tone had become challenging. The little voice was now asking if she was in her right mind pulling out all the stops like this.

Chuckling, Zayeed shook his head. "You wound me, Sarah. Can't you imagine that my artistic ardor has a deeper dimension than the cases you just mentioned?"

Feeling the wall move closer to her from behind, Mac tried to further slow down her steps, but Zayeed pushed her on. "The real personal part will follow soon enough, don't worry," he explained. "Up to now, all this has only been a little good-natured sports. However, what follows could turn out rough. Be prepared, Colonel."

"I always am," she answered, knowing it wasn't the truth.

"Good," Zayeed stated, the degree of satisfaction in his voice intimidating. "Let's see if you really are. What I invented for you is one of the most personal things I've ever created. I have to admit I'm rather proud of the outcome."

"I still don't see how I fit into this picture," Mac observed, trying to keep her hands from trembling too openly.

"In a way," Zayeed answered, "You provided me with the decisive personal detail yourself, Sarah. On the phone, when the commander was in New Orleans. Thank you so much for your terrific work." He drew nearer still, forcing Mac to take yet another step backward. Her foot touched the wall.

"You know," the Iranian went on in a thoughtful voice, "I needed something spectacular, worthy of my late brother. You mentioned something on the phone that I'd really love to know how you managed to get out of it. You definitely shouldn't have spoken of that butterfly mine."

The same moment the word was out, Mac bumped into the wall, and suddenly, a distinct clicking was heard. A clicking that Mac had repeatedly had nightmares about, ever since their trip to Afghanistan. Her blood froze in her veins and she couldn't prevent her gaze from flying to Harm's. He was staring back at her with wide, terrified eyes. It was obvious that he hadn't known anything about this beforehand.

"If I were you, I wouldn't move," Zayeed said, unable to fully hide how much he was enjoying his surprise attack.

Mac swallowed hard, but managed to keep her panic in check. "I won't. All right, Zayeed, you've got me. But tell me two things: first, it didn't feel as if I'd stepped on anything. How did you hide a mine in a concrete floor? And second, how do you plan on having me die but have all of you survive all this?"

Zayeed made a gesture of respect. "I see you're a keen observer, Sarah. In fact, you didn't step on anything. I just recorded the sound, for the fun of it all. In reality, you're standing in between a photoelectric barrier. I know, I know," he made a placating movement with his hands. "I could have used an ordinary detonator. But where's the art in that? Danger tinged with personal recollection showing on the victims' faces is just so much more interesting.

"Oh," he interrupted himself, casting a glance over his shoulder, "Just in case you were wondering why the commander hasn't said a word yet: he knows he and his little friend are likely to be shot if he does. You see - sometimes, politics can be so simple... The commander, the Bragado family, and I will leave you alone now. We'll be watching firsthand from a safe distance as you struggle to get out of this one. I've been looking forward to this forever."

"And what if I just stay put?" Mac asked defiantly.

Zayeed put on a fake worried frown. "I forgot to tell you... there's a slight catch to the situation, Sarah. Activating the mine, you set off a timer to a remote detonator. If you stay where you are, in fifteen minutes, the timer will detonate a bomb and finish what you prevented my brother from doing. I know you're proud of having saved those people at the nightclub. Too bad that others now have to suffer for them. And just to be sure your picture of the situation is correct: don't even start to think about evacuating the place in question in less than a quarter of an hour."

Mac's world was beginning to spin. Yet, she ordered herself to keep focusing on whatever little possibilities she might have to prevent the catastrophe. "Where's the other bomb, Zayeed?" she asked, a little breathless.

"You'll find out soon enough," he replied.

"So I have no choice but let it happen?" Mac tried in vain to keep anger and desperation out of her words.

"Oh, no," Zayeed contradicted. "Of course, you have a choice, Sarah. The timer can be stopped again - if you leave your present spot and close the photoelectric barrier. Well, you know what will happen in here if you do, but you can at least be sure you died saving tens of thousands of lives among those celebrating the annual Buccaneers fan gala at Raymond James Stadium."

Squeezing her eyes shut against a sudden wave of suffocating dizziness, Mac pressed herself against the wall in order to maintain her equilibrium. The safety of seventy-thousand people was in her hands. 'Dear Lord, let me be strong enough.'

Ignoring the tears forming in her eyes, Mac locked her gaze with Harm's again. In his expression, Mac perceived the exact reflection of her own soul when all they had ever hoped for shattered irrevocably. He, as well as her, knew that there was but one choice to be made.

The hardest of all.

 

**********

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**********

 

2132 Local
Deserted school sports facility
Tampa, FL

 

For María Consuelo Bragado, the world came to an abrupt stop.

For months, she had had an indistinct nagging feeling that something was wrong with the man who had stepped in and provided for her family when his brother had been killed. Zayeed Fahd had never been able to fully win her trust. Too obsessed had he seemed, too caught up in his yearning for revenge, to be able to let reason guide his actions. The memories of Sadik, her son's savior, had been the only thing to ensure her loyalty.

Yet, in the last few weeks, the picture she'd had of Sadik had been shaken in its very foundation as well. Not because anyone had presented her with any evidence that the accusations brought forth against her benefactor were true. It had been the people she was helping to destroy who had ultimately made her question whom they were really trying to avenge.

Observing them in their habitual surroundings, Harmon Rabb and Sarah Mackenzie had, against Consuelo's will, first earned her grudging respect, then won her reluctant admiration, and in the end captured her heart. Until today, Consuelo had still tried to defy the sympathies she was feeling, but getting to know the couple in person had eventually cracked her emotional shell. Harmon and Sarah were the kind of people Consuelo would have wanted her friends to be like. The kind of people that were too rarely found in this world, but were desperately needed. Two individuals living their values, engaged in the quest for truth and justice, prepared to put everything on the line for the well-being of others. Two true hearts united by the kind of love Consuelo knew to be unbreakable, whatever the odds.

As she had confessed to Harmon, she was more and more convinced that people like him and Sarah had to be fighting on the right side. All the little hints that had pointed to Sadik being involved in illegal business, that she had defiantly ignored for the sake of her son, had begun to reappear in her conscious, suddenly assembling to form an ugly, but logical picture she hadn't wanted to see.

Still, however prepared she had been to witness Sadik's brother show his true face after pointing a gun at Antonio's head, this last proof of the Fahds' life-despising cruelty took her breath away. She couldn't believe that anyone belonging to the race of humanity could ever act so completely on hatred alone, not only taking lives but also making sure that their victims' souls would suffer until the very end.

Despite her worries for Antonio's future, Consuelo didn't want a hand in this. The moment she witnessed the heart-wrenching silent exchange between Harmon and Sarah in the face of Sarah's death sentence, she decided that her work for Zayeed was done. If the slightest chance whatsoever would present itself to help avoid this private Armageddon, Consuelo swore to herself she would act as the situation required. So help her God.

Right now, all she could do was watch the proceedings unfold, but if the Lord had mercy, he would show her how to find a way out.

Zayeed now stepped in between Harmon and Sarah, effectively breaking what might be their last visual contact. "We're leaving, Commander," he said.

The tall man squared his shoulders. "Let me take Colonel Mackenzie's place. I want her to have my right to live."

"But I don't," Zayeed replied squarely. "I don't care about you, Mr. Rabb. But I definitely want to see your friend's pathetic existence terminated. Here and now. Live with it or don't. Your choice."

"Then I'll stay." Harmon crossed his arms in front of his chest, a quick glance over Zayeed's shoulder daring his partner to contradict.

Zayeed shrugged. "As you wish. Then the Bragados will stay, too." Consuelo absorbed this statement with an inward calm that surprised her.

Anger flared in the tall man's stunning blue eyes. "Leave the Bragados out of it. Your business is with me alone."

"No, it's with the colonel. But I'm leaving you the choice: stay with Sarah, and the Bragados will share your fireworks party. Or leave the room, and... well... you know what will happen. I'm looking forward to observing your facial expression when the colonel sacrifices herself."

Consuelo thought she had never in her life witnessed such misery and hopelessness in the eyes of a man. With two guns - Zayeed's and José's - trained on him, he had no chance to try any desperate last-minute moves. Not with the child in firing range, too. This was the moment when everything might depend on her actions. Gently passing the sleeping Antonio on to her mother, Consuelo stepped in front.

"Usted ha recibido su venganza," she addressed Zayeed in rapid Spanish so José would understand. "Tiene el poder de esta situación. Usted es el vencedor, lo admitimos. Ahora déjeles en paz, Señor! Por favor, no les mate!" Consuelo stepped in front of Harm as if she wanted to protect him.

[[You got your vengeance. You have the power over the situation. Yes, we admit that you won. Now leave them be, Señor! Please, don't kill them!]]

She quickly glanced at her brother-in-law. José had blanched. "Consuelo!" he hissed.

But she had sworn to stand her ground. "No, José. No es bueno. Es una acción cruel y criminal. No quiero mas participar! Yo me quedo aquí!"

[[No, José. This isn't good. It's a cruel and criminal action. I don't want to participate anymore! I'm staying!]]

She only hoped that José's interest in his nephew keeping his mother would make him change sides. Antonio had woken up and began to squirm in the arms of his grandmother who set the boy down on his feet, firmly holding on to his little hand.

Consuelo could tell Zayeed was starting to worry about the time left to detonation. "Fine. Then say goodbye, all of you. Yes, you, too, José. Hasta la vista!" He turned to leave the room, his gun pointed at José's mother who sucked in her breath.

"Señor!" José's voice was incredulous, seeing how Zayeed didn't bother to distinguish between friends and enemies anymore. "No puede..."

[[Señor! You can't...]]

The shot brought everybody's eardrums close to bursting. Horrified, Consuelo heard her mother-in-law scream, and saw her go down, bleeding from a considerable, if maybe not lethal wound in her thigh. Antonio began to sob uncontrollably, and Consuelo got down on her knees beside her mother-in-law, at the same time holding her son close as well as trying to stop the bleeding.

"No!" José's voice. Consuelo's heart skipped a beat when a second shot rang out, this time from a different direction. And the person going down was Zayeed himself this time, dropping his gun and pressing his hands on his stomach where blood rapidly began to stain his white shirt red. It didn't take very much to see that this wound would eventually kill him. José pocketed his gun with an expression that almost resembled relief. In an instant, he was at his mother's side.

Consuelo jumped to her feet. Here was the way out!

"José," she ordered quickly and sharply, "Acompañe a Mamá y a Antonio fuera de aquí! De prisa! Yo me ocupo del resto!"

[[José, accompany Mamá and Antonio out of here! Quick! I'll take care of the rest!]]

Amazingly enough, José immediately did as he was told. Consuelo turned to the commander. "Harmon, is he dead?"

The commander took a few steps closer to the man lying on the floor and locked his gaze with him from above. Then he kneeled down and shook the body, eliciting a low groan from the man who had blood trickling from his mouth. Then he reached for the gun and rose again.

"Not yet," he answered coldly, as if he had ridded his kind heart of every emotion whatsoever. "Turn away, please, Consuelo."

Consuelo did as she was told, grateful he should think of sparing her from witnessing the scene.

"You were right, Zayeed." Harmon's voice had never sounded so cruel to her, but she nevertheless managed to hold on to the picture she'd gotten of him.

"Vengeance is indeed best served cold," the commander went on. "Turns out yours wasn't cold enough. But mine is." The shot made her jump, a low cry escaping her mouth.

The events were starting to get the better of her, but Consuelo ordered herself not to let herself be overwhelmed just now. They only had like, what, seven minutes left to stop the remote detonator?

Obviously, Harmon had had the same idea as she had. "Consuelo," he called, his tone urgent, "Help me pull the body over to Colonel Mackenzie!"

She was already by his side and together they rapidly dragged the corpse to the shaken-looking but calm colonel. "Lean him against the wall so his torso is parallel to my leg," she told them, having understood as well what might be their last chance of escaping.

Careful not to endanger the colonel's stance, Consuelo helped the commander seat Zayeed's dead body in between the photoelectric cells.

"This should do the trick," Harmon told her, getting up and holding out his hand to his love.

All three held their breaths when she stepped away from where she had stood. The barrier held. Zayeed Fahd, of all people, had saved their lives.

"Harm, think of the bomb in the stadium," the colonel urgently reminded him. "I can't just walk out and let it explode! The barrier needs to be closed again!"

"He's sitting right under the window. We'll push him aside from the outside. Come on, we need to get out of here!"

Holding hands in a chain because of the dark, they ran out of the room, along the corridor, up the flight of steps, and out into the former sports stadium where José and Antonio were kneeling beside José's mother on the lawn. Just about three minutes to go.

"Now what?" Sarah was looking at Harmon as if she were hoping for divine illumination, despair shining in her eyes.

Consuelo quickly scanned her surroundings. "The pole from the high jump!" she exclaimed.

The commander instantly understood. He sprinted to the near sand pit, picked up the pole, then ran back to the house. Consuelo and the colonel joined him at the window in question. The room being situated in the basement, the window was barely above the outside surface, making it difficult to access but at least not placing it out of reach.

"Help me guide the pole!" the colonel told her.

The commander stuck the pole through the window, breaking the glass, and together with Sarah, Consuelo steered the pole until it made contact with the corpse inside.

"On zero, push and try to protect yourselves. Somehow." Harmon sounded just as helpless as she felt, but Consuelo knew they had to take their chances. For the seventy-thousand people in the stadium.

"Understood." Sarah was all business. "Three, two, one, zero!"

Consuelo tried to hold the pole in position while the officers pushed hard. The obstacle inside gave way, and they all flattened themselves on the ground best as they could, hands over their heads. A second later, an explosion inside the building caused their surroundings to vibrate. Glass splintered and small pieces of debris rained down on them - but the walls held.

For a few incredibly long minutes, they lay completely still in the total quiet surrounding them. Then Consuelo pulled herself up, to see the commander dialing a number on his cell phone.

"This is Commander Harmon Rabb, U.S. Navy. I would like to speak with the head of the Tampa Bureau. Thank you... This is Commander Harmon Rabb, U.S. Navy. My partner and I found evidence of a likely disarmed bomb at Raymond James Stadium. You'll need to evacuate. And we have three adults and a child to be picked up and placed in federal witness protection. No, I don't know where we are. Long story. I'll leave my cell phone on so you can track us down. And we need an ambulance, too."

Hearing the ambulance mentioned, Consuelo remembered her mother-in-law was lying on the lawn nearby. She got to her feet and hurriedly joined José who held Antonio encircled in his arms. He had wrapped his mother's wound best as he could, and Consuelo decided the bandage would do until the medics arrived.

She turned around to look over to where she had left Harmon and Sarah. They were sitting next to each other, their heads resting on each other's shoulders, arms loosely wrapped around each other. They seemed to be dead exhausted. And yet, the picture breathed absolute relaxation.

It was over. At last.

 

2329 Local
MacDill AFB
St. Petersburg, FL

 

"Well, then, I guess that would be it." Brigadier General George Burton rose from his chair, making Harm and Mac follow suit immediately. They came to attention in front of the base commander, and Harm had to try hard to keep his face from distorting in pain. 'Breathe, focus, breathe, focus, breathe, focus...' had been his mantra for the last hour and a half, having been sent from one interview to the next. FBI, CIA, NCIS, Tampa PD, and finally debriefing with General Burton. After being bombarded with all the questions imaginable in the world, Harm wasn't sure he even remembered his own name.

After his call from the deserted school grounds, the local FBI had immediately evacuated the football stadium and indeed found a bomb on one side under the rows of seats, near the 50-yard line, that would have sufficed to blow up at least half of the impressive steel and concrete construction. Luckily they had really succeeded to disarm the remote detonator by having had the mine explode in the school changing room. As the agent who took down their testimony had informed them, the timer showed T minus 42 seconds. As close as it could have gotten.

Even as the evacuation had still gone on, an ambulance and a minivan had arrived at the deserted school and had taken them to MacDill Air Force Base. This way, they had effectively avoided the media thunderstorm that had broken loose at the incredible news of a prevented terrorist attack. No one out there knew about the role they had played in the affair. And if he had any influence on it, Harm would try anything in his power to keep it that way for as long as possible.

Parting with the Bragados had been strange. Short as they'd known them, and ambiguous as had been their role in the case, Harm had found it hard to tell Consuelo and her son a definite goodbye, knowing that once in witness protection, they'd never see them again. The young woman had impressed him. Not only had she acknowledged that she had been wrong, although the side she'd first been on had ensured medical treatment for her son. She hadn't merely changed her opinion. She had even played a vital part in their rescue. Without Consuelo, Harm knew Mac would either be dead or mourning the loss of tens of thousands of lives, forced to live with this inhuman guilt. He wished - and he knew Mac did, too - they could somehow learn about Antonio's state in the future.

Upon parting, Consuelo had hugged them both, tears in her eyes. "God bless you, Harmon, and you, Sarah. I know we'll meet again someday."

They had both needed a little time to swallow the lumps in their throats.

Harm could sense that Mac wasn't feeling any better than himself right now, and it was apparent that Burton had noticed. The slightest benevolent smile played around the corners of his mouth as he looked at the two officers in front of him who were trying hard not to sway on their feet but didn't succeed in full.

"At ease. Colonel Mackenzie, Commander Rabb," he said, his voice gentle and filled with both compassion and respect, "I daresay you've earned your rest. Are you sure you don't want to stay on the base?"

"Yes, sir," Harm answered politely. "Thank you for your hospitality, but with all the press people out there, I doubt we could get away quietly tomorrow morning if we stay here for the night. It might be advisable to take up the Bureau's offer to get us out of here in silence and let us sleep at some inconspicuous hotel, using cover names. "

Burton sighed good-naturedly. "I do see your point, Commander. Go get yourself a few hours of sound sleep. And you, too, Colonel." His face sobered a little. "I know these kinds of phrases are overused and sound flat, but I don't care. Let me just say that your country is deeply indebted to you both. What you did showed true valor, bravery, and commitment to the oath you took. Thank you, on behalf of all the people whose lives were saved by your readiness to sacrifice yourselves." He slightly bowed his head in acknowledgement of their merits and held out his hand, first to a stunned Mac, then to an embarrassed Harm.

"Thank you, sir..."

"Thank you, sir."

The smile broadened again on the Air Force general's face. "John Blankenship is damned lucky with the people in his command," he declared. "Dunno what he did to deserve it," he added in a murmur to the side, making Harm and Mac swallow slight gasps of surprise.

"Now I suppose you want to call the admiral and check in with him?" the general asked. Harm wondered if the raised eyebrow and the slight stress on the 'want' had been intended to sound as ironic as they had. Apparently, John Carroll, the fourth, had a reputation that surpassed the boundaries of the Navy and Marine Corps.

"Um, yes, sir," Mac quickly spoke up. "Where could we turn to for a secure line?"

"You can use my office. I'm expected home anyway," Burton answered. "My yeoman will stay outside until you're finished here. He'll show you to your ride. Goodnight, Colonel, Commander."

"Goodnight, sir!"

"Goodnight, sir!" Both had come to attention again as the general gave them a final nod, turned and left the office, closing the door behind himself.

Silence spread around them. Although he knew they were alone, Harm somehow didn't dare drop formality in a general's office. So instead of making physical contact as he was longing to, he just looked at Mac. "My turn," he said with a sigh, reaching for the receiver.

Mac stopped him with her hand on his forearm. "You don't need to do this, Harm. You sit down and rest. I'll deal with the enemy."

He could tell she had wanted the words to sound light, but the underlying strain wasn't lost on him. Swallowing his former uneasiness, he tenderly caressed her cheek and managed a slight smile. "No. *You* sit down and rest, Mac. You're the number-one hero of the day, remember? As a matter of fact: did I thank you for coming after me?"

She looked down and leaned into his touch. "You don't have to..."

He gently made her look at him. "Yes, I do. Thank you, Mac. You're one hell of a guardian angel, and I'll make that stiff, narrow-minded, vain peacock in D.C. see just that." He lifted the receiver to his ear and closed the eyes against a wave of exhausted dizziness. "Sergeant, please connect me with Admiral Blankenship; the number is..." Harm already had vivid ideas as to how his C.O. would react to being disturbed at home as late as this. All the more reason not to let Mac do it.

His trepidation rose when the eighth ring passed without an answer. Just when he was about to end the call, somebody picked up the phone.

["Hello?"]

Harm involuntarily jumped at the harshness of the voice. He quickly hit the loudspeaker button for Mac to hear. "Good evening, sir, this is Commander Rabb. I'm sorry to disturb you at such a late hour but..."

He didn't get to finish his sentence. ["You better offer a good reason for your call, Commander!"] Blankenship barked.

"Yes, sir. Are you watching TV right now, sir?"

["Beg your pardon?!?"]

Mac's eyes had grown round and she apparently didn't know whether to laugh or to pray. Harm cleared his throat. "I know this sounds odd, sir, but, please, turn on ZNN."

Rustling told them that the receiver was being put down, and a moment later, distant voices filled the room on the other end of the line. Mac quickly switched on the TV on the general's desk, in order to know what Blankenship was seeing.

Pictures of panicking people being evacuated from a giant football stadium were followed by specialists searching the compound, dogs accompanying them. All the time, the anchorman commented from the off that still no clear information was available as to who was behind the prevented attack and how the authorities had learned about the danger just in time to prevent the catastrophe.

Blankenship watched in silence for a few minutes. Eventually, he picked up the receiver again. ["What's this all about, Commander, and why are you calling me about it?"] he asked icily.

Harm was spared the answer as the anchorman interrupted his comments on stadium security for breaking news.

[("ZNN has just been informed by the FBI that apparently, two U.S. military officers managed to disclose the planned attack and take appropriate measures to disarm the bomb. According to our correspondent, the originators of the prevented bombing, supposedly a middle-eastern terrorist group linked to Al Qaeda, seem to have operated from...")]

["He wouldn't by any chance be talking about you, Commander Rabb?"] All of a sudden, Blankenship's voice sounded quite a bit friendlier.

"Yes, sir," Harm answered. "Of me and Colonel Mackenzie," he added pointedly.

Blankenship ignored the insinuation. He gave a low, content chuckle. "Well, I certainly don't mind as long as your behavior bestows a little glory on the Navy, but tell me one thing, Commander: how do you always get to finding yourself in the wrong place at the right time?"

The jerk was point-blank ignoring Mac's involvement in the case. Swallowing his anger, Harm willed himself to stay calm. "Sometimes I just crash, sir. This time, I was kidnapped. The colonel bailed me out, confronted the terrorist leader, and was willing to sacrifice herself to save the seventy-thousand in the stadium." He waited to let the enormity of the news sink in with the admiral before he continued, "The terrorist was Zayeed Fahd, the brother of Sadik Fahd who was brought down by Colonel Mackenzie a few months ago. I'm sure you remember hearing of the affair, sir."

For a moment, Blankenship was silent. When he spoke, his words sounded slightly annoyed. ["What do you mean, the colonel was willing to sacrifice herself? We all are. We swore an oath."]

Harm heard Mac draw an exasperated breath, and he made a fist to keep his cool. "But we don't all find ourselves in a situation where we have to willingly kill ourselves to save others, sir" he answered neutrally.

["But she didn't, did she?"] Blankenship sounded slightly panicky, Harm noted in tired, grim contentment.

"No, sir. Fortunately an alternative came up."

Blankenship relaxed audibly, his smile making itself known over the line again. ["I see. So, how did you save the day, Commander?"]

'Count to ten, Rabb. It'll pass...' "I didn't save anything, sir. I'm injured and couldn't do much to help. Two other hostages took him out. I only made sure Zayeed wouldn't pose a threat anymore." Harm knew he wasn't exactly being accurate right now, but he didn't care. Blankenship had to acknowledge Mac's skills and commitment at some point, for crying out loud!

They heard the admiral inhale deeply. ["So what exactly was it the colonel did, Commander?"]

Harm forced his voice down to low admiration. "Zayeed conned her into meeting him where he held me captive," he explained. "Then he set off the timer to the bomb in the stadium." Again, that wasn't the total truth, but Harm didn't feel in the least inclined to explain that Mac hadn't started the timer by negligence on her part. "In this situation, Fahd left Colonel Mackenzie with the choice to either die in a mine explosion that would stop the timer, or watch the stadium turn into hell on Earth. The colonel had decided to sacrifice herself when the other woman acted, sir."

["How would you know, Commander?"] Blankenship asked coolly.

Feeling a strong urge to slam the receiver down in exasperation, Harm let go of all caution. Not caring that his voice carried a lot more emotion than would have been advised, he drew a shaky breath and stated in a low voice, "Sir, Colonel Mackenzie's been my working partner of more than eight years. From the cases we worked on, you know that we've been in quite a few borderline situations together. In a successful team, you reach a point when you learn to read your partner's expression. The colonel and I wouldn't have survived even half of the cases we investigated if we hadn't come to this kind of mutual understanding. I looked at her and I knew she was ready to die, sir. This is all the explanation I can offer."

Harm's eyes sought Mac's, wanting to apologize for letting her down, being unable to make the admiral see just what she'd done. Mac gave him a crooked 'I know - thank you for trying' half smile. However, both listened up in surprise at Blankenship's next words.

The admiral's voice had suddenly changed. It wasn't as if it had lost its condescending attitude. Yet, it sounded just a little more open than they were used to. ["You know, Commander, had you been anyone else, I would never have paid attention to any sentimentalities of the kind. Most people highly overestimate their abilities of reading their counterparts' thoughts. But in your case, I'm willing to make an exception.

["Your record does indeed show an amazing number of successful high-profile investigations that seem to have been... let's say, out of the ordinary. And as you say, in almost all of those... borderline situations, as you call them, you were partnered with the colonel. I have been wondering how you managed to come out unscathed of so many potentially deadly scenarios. I suppose this... mutual understanding, as you put it, might indeed be the answer I hadn't yet thought about. So, if you say you saw her preparing to sacrifice herself, I am inclined to believe you."]

Stunned beyond belief, Harm gaped at Mac, who had been fanning herself with a piece of paper. Upon Blankenship's words, the movement had stopped in mid-air.

"Uh, thank you, sir," Harm finally managed to say.

["I commend my people where commendation is in order,"] Blankenship stated pompously. ["Is the colonel within your reach, Mr. Rabb?"]

Shaking himself from his stupor, Harm allowed himself a slight, tired smile. "Yes, sir. I'll call her." He put the admiral on hold, bent down, took the time to tenderly kiss Mac, then brought the call back online. "Colonel Mackenzie for you, sir."

["Thank you, Commander. Colonel Mackenzie?"] Harm thought Blankenship's voice had never yet sounded quite so relaxed when he had addressed Mac before. Relieved, he passed her the receiver.

"Good evening, sir," Mac politely greeted her C.O.

["Good evening, Colonel."] Blankenship's voice sounded almost jovial. ["Let me just say that I appreciate your readiness of mind and the courageous action you took tonight. You did an outstanding service to your country, Colonel. In the true spirit of the Corps, you..."]

Somewhere at the back of Harm's head, a little warning bell began to chime. This 180-degrees about-face of Blankenship's attitude towards Mac and the Corps was slightly unsettling. 'What the hell is he up to?' he couldn't help asking himself.

He didn't need to wait very long to have his question answered. ["I will recommend you and the commander for the Navy and the Marine Corps Medals, respectively, and I will personally make sure that everyone in this country acknowledges your merits,"] Blankenship told Mac whose expression changed from taken aback to horrified in the wink of an eye. ["Every American should know how you and Commander Rabb acted in honor of the Navy's finest tradition, and the Marine Corps's tradition, obviously,"] Blankenship hurriedly added, trying to cover his slip. ["I am proud to have you both on my staff. I expect to find your report on my desk by Monday 0900. Dismissed,"] he quickly ended the call as if they had met in his office. The line went dead.

For a few moments, Mac and Harm just wordlessly looked at each other, trying to figure out what exactly they should make of the admiral's behavior. Eventually, Harm let himself fall into the nearest chair, bent his head back and closed his eyes, his fatigue getting the better of him.

"I guess we need to get used to the idea of being handed from one nationwide talk-show to the next," he stated the inevitable.

"That's just what I needed," Mac said with a resigned sigh.

Harm looked up. He felt void and spent and didn't have the power to offer her a smile. Yet, at least his voice took up a soothing tone. "But you know what, Mac? If he wants this whole thing dragged out in the open, that means he's ready to admit that you're an outstanding officer, worthy of the Marine Corps Medal. I'm positive this is going to affect your working relationship with our C.O. in general. Positively, I mean."

"Do you really think he believes what you said about me?" The question-mark on Mac's face was considerable.

Harm shrugged and made an effort to pull himself up from his chair. "We'll know for sure in a few weeks," he stated neutrally. "But he sounded as if he didn't want to discredit you any further, for a change. And he did say he was proud of having us on his staff. You can't just take that back, once the words are out."

"Okay," Mac resolved. "If he's commending me for my success, then I'm ready to give him the benefit of a doubt. For now - as long as he doesn't discredit the Corps as a whole, either."

"He knows he can't, with you around." Harm slowly shook his head. "Not after what the media will learn about us, once they start digging. No, Mac. I think we finally cracked him. Let's get out of here. Until Monday morning, we're civilians."

Harm could have sworn that from the bottom of Blankenship's words, a tendency to genuine esteem for Mac had indeed begun to shine through. It would make for a nice change for sure.

 

0042 Local
Ramada Inn
Tampa, FL

 

Mac splashed yet another load of cold water on her face, reached for her towel and buried her nose in the soft terry cloth, closing her eyes and leaning against the bathroom wall. The emotional and physical exhaustion had left her drained of all energy. She couldn't even seem to find the strength anymore to rejoice in their victory or to marvel at how her guardian angels had found a way to spare her the sacrifice she'd already accepted as unavoidable earlier today.

All she was longing for right now was sleep, sleep, and sleep. And from the grayish color she'd seen Harm's face take up, she knew that for him, it was just the same. At least for the first time in nearly a year and a half, they could go to sleep knowing that no one by the name of Fahd would ever haunt them again. The relief welling up in her at the thought was about the only thing her mind was able to process right now. The emotional fallout would come later.

Hanging the towel back on its hook, Mac drew one last deep breath and let it out slowly. Tomorrow, life would probably look a lot different. But right now, she was done thinking. A soft pillow and a goodnight kiss were all she was longing for, and chances were good that her wishes be granted.

Harm had already turned off the lights and was lying on his back, the blanket covering him up to his bare waist. He had taken yet another high dose of Tylenol, and the stainless white of the fresh bandage on his shoulder shone slightly in the dark. Harm's eyes were closed and he was breathing evenly. Mac felt a slight wistful smile tug at the corners of her mouth. He hadn't even noticed her Bordeaux silk underwear. The oversized T-shirt she'd purchased at the mall opposite the hotel wasn't exactly made to inspire fantasies. She was only glad she was just as tired as he was. This way, her regrets of having yet another platonic night together were short-lived.

She climbed into bed and settled down on her side, turning her back to him. Finally she was allowed to give in to her exhaustion.

However, when she had just closed her eyes, the steady rhythm of Harm's breathing was interrupted by something that sounded like a shaky sigh. She froze, listening hard. For a few moments, everything seemed to be back to normal, but suddenly, there was the sound again. Mac lay still, shell-shocked. It hadn't been a sigh. Harm had tried to suppress a sob.

At once, she turned over to him and gently laid her hand on his bare shoulder.

"Are you okay? Your shoulder giving you trouble? Or your concussion?"

"No, it's nothing. Go to sleep," came his soft answer. "I'm okay." She could tell he had wanted to sound reassuring, but his voice seemed strangled somehow. She moved closer.

"No, you're not," she softly contradicted, propping herself up on her elbow and looking down on his face. Biting her lip to keep it from trembling, she at once knew where she'd seen this expression. It was the way the aftermath of having gone through hell made itself known on his features. He had worn this exact same expression on the Seahawk, when they had known Bud would live.

Reaching out, she shyly caressed his temple, not knowing how much contact he might or might not appreciate right now. "Talk to me," she begged in a whisper.

It took him a few moments to make up his mind, and she simply waited, never ceasing to caress his face. "I didn't even think about killing him," he eventually said, his voice barely audible.

"His wound was lethal," she tried to reassure him. "You only shortened the process."

He slowly shook his head. "I'm not speaking of Zayeed Fahd. I meant Consuelo's husband."

For a moment, Mac was at a loss for words. "What do you mean?" she finally asked.

Harm swallowed hard. "I haven't told you the whole story. The Bragados didn't help Zayeed to get to me just because he paid for Antonio's treatment," he explained, opening his eyes and fixing the ceiling. "They did it because I killed José's brother when I rescued you from Sadik. I broke his neck, and I didn't even think about what I was doing."

"Oh, Harm..." Suddenly, everything made sense. Not knowing what to tell him, Mac simply drew him into a firm embrace, resting her head against his shoulder. After a few seconds, his arms went around her and she felt him hold on to her like he must have to the sonar buoy that had saved his life out on the Atlantic.

"Look at me," she said gently, lifting her head, her hands stroking his back. He complied, not bothering to dry the tearstains on his cheeks. "You can't undo the past, Harm. You were fighting a war, and in a war, there will always be victims. The situation needed action, and you acted on instinct. He was working for the enemy. You're not the only one responsible."

Pain flickered in his gaze. "Yes, I am," he contradicted. "I came after you against orders. It wasn't my war to fight, and I didn't have a strategy that would have justified my actions. I wasn't any better than the villains that were torturing you and Webb."

The memories made her wince in his arms, and she felt his embrace tighten even more. "But you saved us," she whispered, not trusting her voice. "No one is capable of always following reason. You are human, Harm. We all are."

"I could have just taken him out. I didn't need to kill him right away."

"You don't know that. And you'd be beating yourself up just the same way if you'd tried to spare him but then found me dead."

His eyes widened as if in sudden recognition. Confused, she waited for him to speak, ceasing her movements.

"No. Not the same way," he contradicted after a few seconds of tense silence, his gaze suddenly a little clearer. "If I'd have let you die and then learned I could have prevented it, I'd probably be dead by now."

Her heart skipped a beat at his implication. Trembling, she pulled him close again and buried her face on his chest. "Don't talk that way. Please," she murmured, shaken, exhaustion making it impossible for her to hold her own tears at bay.

Harm rested his forehead against the back of her head, and from the way he was shaking slightly, she knew he was crying, too. For the many painful choices they had been forced to make in their lives. And for the many times they had locked their emotions up deep inside. Somehow, it seemed logical that only now, united in their pain, they finally found the valve to let it all out. And without voicing it aloud, they both knew that this was the ultimate step needed to cement the basis they could build their future on. The past was out in the open. Never forgotten - but never again a threat to their happiness.

 

Saturday
0742 Local
Ramada Inn
Tampa, FL

 

An early sunray penetrating the half-closed blinds at just the right angle woke Harm from his deep, dreamless sleep. For a moment, he had difficulties placing the situation into the right timeline. Not as far as the facts were concerned. He knew exactly why he and Mac were in this hotel room together, and he was aware that they were in Tampa and not in California, as he had originally planned. He felt a slight, dull throbbing in his shoulder as well as in his head. Yesterday's events were present in his mind.

But something was different. A single sunbeam had never seemed quite so bright to him, the bits of blue sky he could perceive through the blinds had never been so clear. The whole world appeared like after a heavy rainstorm that had washed away the dirt of a lifetime, leaving it pure and fresh. Morning had broken like the first morning.

He became aware that Mac hadn't moved an inch since she'd begun to cry in his arms. And under his cheek, he could still feel that the pillow was slightly damp. A rainstorm indeed. But although he tried hard, Harm could not remember ever having felt this light at heart as he was feeling just now. Today was Future, Day One, and they were both there to celebrate it.

Mac's expression in her sleep was so blissfully relaxed, happy almost, that he had to swallow hard. This woman had endured so much, just because she loved him. How could he ever believe his luck? True, he had done just the same for her. But Harm still found it difficult to value their actions on the same level. As far as he was concerned, not doing it had never been an option. But being given the same gift in return overwhelmed him.

He carefully bent his head down and kissed her cheek, marveling at the softness of her skin under his lips. "Sorry," he whispered when she stirred and blinked. "I didn't mean to wake you."

Her expression lit up. "Doesn't mean that I mind," she said softly.

The moment his eyes met hers, he could read in them that she was feeling the same overwhelming newness of their situation that was so hard to grasp and yet so easy to accept. The slow, passionate kiss that followed the silent exchange was the most logical consequence of what had transpired. And as they followed through and finally became one, no words were needed.

**********

For quite some time, neither one dared to break the spell. Eventually, though, Mac gently pushed herself up and climbed out of bed. "Sorry, nature calling," she said with a wink, heading for the bathroom. Inside, she looked into the big mirror, noticing her disheveled hair and her flushed cheeks. Not that she'd ever forget what had happened the night before. But from now on, Tampa was sure to rank top of her worth-to-remember list.

About two minutes later, she settled down in his embrace again, feeling as if she'd been used to the situation forever. No fanfares, no fireworks - just the quiet, serene conviction that this was right. Absolutely, undeniably right.

He nuzzled her ear, making her smile. "Mac?"

"Hmm?"

"There's something I need to talk to you about."

"Shoot."

He pouted. "Aww. You're not being romantic."

She raised an eyebrow. "Should I?"

He sighed theatrically, looking at the ceiling. "What's the point asking you if you want to marry me if you don't feel like walking on cloud nine?"

She sucked in her breath, shocked. "Say that again."

Obviously pleased with her reaction, he turned his head towards her again, his grin exuberant. "Maybe you're right. I had planned for all this to happen in a different setting but being romantic is highly overrated." The soft glow in his eyes was belying his words. "So, as the topic came up: Sarah Mackenzie, will you marry me?"

Mac's first reaction would have been to kiss him senseless, but she felt compelled to offer a witty comeback, despite her pulse rate of 140 beats per minute. "You may be right about being romantic, but I would have liked to see the getting-down-on-one-knee part. And then there's the ring issue." She waited breathlessly for his next move.

He frowned apologetically. "Circumstances somehow prevented me from staging this quite as I'd planned it, but I can assure you that you'll find a small velvet box in my travel bag back home. Could we shelve the kneeling-thing until I can give it to you?"

Joy nearly suffocated her voice. "Then why do you ask now?" she whispered, knowing her radiant expression already told him all he wanted to know.

His smile lost all of its slyness, radiating nothing but love. "Because every single day of waiting is one day too much. I promise I'll pull out all the stops with your candlelight dinner, but I'll ask again: Mac, will you marry me?"

Overwhelmed, she could barely nod. "Yes," she answered, still whispering.

Outside, the Floridian sun was illuminating and warming just another day. Inside, the sun had risen in full over Future, Day One.

 

Epilogue
December 20th
Harm's - and Mac's - apartment
North of Union Station
Washington, D.C.

 

Mac was frowning as she perused the pages of the catalogue in her lap. Biting back his grin, Harm observed her from the other end of the couch where he was calculating the prices of different types of parquet for their future living-room in McLean.

"Anything I can help you with, hon?"

Never looking up, she shook her head, clearly unnerved. "Not unless you can show me a clever way to stay warm in my wedding dress and not look stuffed. This blizzard's going to kill me."

Harm couldn't help chuckling slightly. "You sure you still want a winter wedding? We can postpone it, you know."

Although it was obvious that he hadn't meant it, she dropped the catalogue with a 'thud', got up on her feet and wordlessly left the room.

Puzzled, Harm put away his own work. "Uh... Mac? I was joking, you know..."

She returned from the bedroom, a sweet smile on her lips, her hands behind her back. "I know," she said happily. "But I'm not. I definitely want to get married next week. Because if we don't, the 700 dollars for my dress would have been wasted." Bending down and giving him a quick, resolute peck on the forehead, she dropped a little plastic bag in his lap. Then she patted his cheek and returned to where she'd sat, actually humming a merry tune.

Taken aback, Harm looked at her for a long moment, but she was already back to her catalogue, not taking any further notice of him. Then he remembered the plastic bag she'd left behind. He opened it, pulled out the more or less pencil-shaped object it contained - and stared.

He was looking at a pregnancy test, clearly showing a distinct pink shade in the one spot that really mattered.

"Wow," he finally whispered, still trying to process the news. Looking up, he found Mac's radiant eyes on him. "How long have you known?"

"I had a first slight suspicion about three weeks ago, but then I thought I'd been wrong so I didn't say anything. But two days ago my suspicion returned, so I made up my mind and found the courage to go see my gynecologist," she confessed.

"How far along are you?"

"Sixth week."

Harm got up and got down on his knees by Mac's side, drawing her into a firm embrace. "So this is it?" he asked in wonder.

"Yup," she confirmed, leaning her head against his. "Feels bizarre, doesn't it?"

"Absolutely," he acknowledged, "But you know what? I'm positive everything's gonna be just fine."

"You sound so sure."

He shrugged slyly. "Didn't I tell you back then that with your looks and my brains, he'd be perfect?"

She turned to face him with a mock frown. "I'll remind you of that when you're about to shoot your daughter's first boyfriend."

Harm was about to reply that she was more likely to see her son make the school football team first, but he suddenly felt he wanted to savor this incredible moment rather than lose it to their ever-present banter. "Tell you something," he said instead. "We drop the issue now and don't talk about it for the next nine months. What do you say? Deal?" In recollection of what had happened five years ago, he held out his hand to her, cocking his head to the side.

Mac immediately got the allusion he was making. "Don't make a promise you can't keep," she replied accordingly, raising her eyebrows, her grin threatening to break through.

"I haven't yet," he cited himself, squeezing her hand when she took his.

"You have a way of being nostalgic, you know that?" she asked, again leaning comfortably against him and closing her eyes.

'Yes, I do,' he thought. 'Because here's finally something in our past worth being nostalgic about.'

About damned time.

*****END OF THE 2004 JAG VIRTUAL SEASON*****

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