Like the Ripples from a Pebble
by
byrhthelm
Early Evening, December 2001
Harmon Rabb turned into the alley behind the old warehouse and slammed the Lexus' brakes on hard, a "Damn!" of frustration breaking out from between his pursed lips. A strange car had been parked right outside the old warehouse door, dangerously near to the corner of alley and street.
Checking his rear view mirror, Harm knocked the gear into reverse and cautiously backed up until he had enough room to swing wide around the strange car, a blue Miata MX5, so that he could park in front of it.
He really didn't need this aggravation, not today; he had only made it back from an investigation on board the USS Stennis late last night, to find a telephone message from Yeoman Two Tiner that the expected court date for the Anderson case had been moved up by five days, and that he was needed in court this morning at zero nine hundred hours.
He wasn't totally unprepared, of course, but he could have done with a few hours sleep to put his body clock right after the long flight back from Naples, instead he had been forced to read, read again and then re-read the case file and try and marshal some sort of opening argument.
Even so, by the time the court went into session, he still had not really been on top of his game, and although he was still confident that he could get the panel to make the guilty finding that Anderson so richly deserved, Mac had given him a rough ride, a really rough ride, today as she had gone all-out to defend her client. The trouble was, Mac knew him well enough to read the signs of his fatigue, and had pulled every trick of which she could think to take advantage of his lack of sleep. In fact she had been so persistent in her filibustering that Judge Sebring had reprimanded her on more than one occasion. And each time she had accepted his remarks with a demurely contrite "Yes, your Honour, sorry," and then turned away from the bench, letting Harm see the smug little smirk that just lifted the corner of her lips.
He couldn't blame her, he told himself. He would have done – and had done in the past – pretty much the same sort of thing whenever he was lucky enough to catch Mac, or any other opposing attorney, at a disadvantage. What's more, despite the effort it had taken, he had to remain calm and polite after court, he had repeatedly told Mac that what happened in court wasn't personal, and had to stay in court; but today, it had felt personal, dammit! He'd managed to remain polite and professional, notwithstanding the still tenuous state of their renewed relationship, which was still on somewhat shaky ground after the Jagathon. Of course that hadn't been much help in his own defence, when once the court had adjourned for the day that Judge Sebring had informed Admiral Chegwidden of Harm's less than stellar performance and the irascible JAG had called Harm into his office and subjected him to a twenty reaming out, finishing with a warning to Rabb that he had "better damn well get your shit together for the morning!"
So, as minor an inconvenience as it might be, the awkward parking of the Miata – which somehow looked slightly familiar – was just about enough to knock loose the safety valve on his temper. That safety valve nearly blew when the door of the building opened and he saw, even in the gloom and poor light, a familiar figure in black slacks and a light blue V-neck sweater, her blonde hair pulled back in a pony-tail, step into the alley and open the trunk of the Miata.
"Lieutenant!" he rapped, "What the hell are you doing here?"
The blonde spun around, startled, her eyes searching for the interloper. Pale blue eyes focussed on him and for a few seconds a frown appeared on her forehead until her face broke into a somewhat nervous grin and she replied, "Oh, hi... Harm. Do you still live here?"
Harm's face which had been stern enough before she spoke, now turned into a rigid, icy, mask and when he spoke his voice was cold and reproving, his words emerging from between thin lips, cold, hard and clipped, "You forget yourself, Lieutenant! As well as military protocol. I do not believe that I have ever given you permission to address me as anything but 'sir' or 'Commander'!"
The frown was back on the blonde's forehead, "Uh... yes, you did... the first day we met you said to call you 'Harm', and why are you calling me 'Lieutenant'?"
Harm was about to tear the young woman a new six – well, verbally of course – when something about the timbre of her voice made him hold his tongue. It was his turn to frown while he dredged for a more than half-forgotten memory, and then as his brain started firing on all cylinders, memory and with it recognition, returned.
"Megan O'Hara!" he gasped, thunderstruck, "but you're dead... or if you aren't dead, you should be in prison!"
Oh yes, he remembered. He remembered the look of determination on her face as she'd turned her assassin's rifle on him, and he also remembered the look of resignation on her face as she realised she wasn't going to shoot. He remembered the way her shoulders drooped and the way the muzzle of the rifle had started to lower. He remembered the door to the opera box crashing open and how, before he could speak, the Secret Service agent had fired three times, hitting the blonde in the back and shoulder.
He remembered the fleeting look of surprise on her face just before the impact of the bullets had thrown her forcefully against him. He remembered lowering her gently to the floor, her blood spreading beneath her, he remembered her last few gasps for breath as he fought to staunch her wounds. He remembered her eyes glazing over! Damn it! He remembered her dying in his arms, her blood soaking his dress whites!
Meg offered a still somewhat timid half-smile, "To quote Mark Twain, 'The reports of my death are greatly exaggerated'," she said.
"Uh... yeah... obviously..." Harm stammered as he gazed at the woman he'd believed had been buried nearly five years ago. "But... why... how... You're not in prison!" he finally finished.
"Uh... no... I'm not," Megan confirmed, her smile gone as she gazed levelly at him.
Harm pushed his cover to the back of his head and pinched the bridge of his nose in an effort to ward off what was threatening to become the mother of all headaches. "I don't understand," he complained.
Megan gnawed on her bottom lip for a few seconds. "You still haven't told me why you called me 'Lieutenant'," she observed. "Again, obviously you must know someone who looks enough like me to allow you to make that mistake." She shrugged, "If this Lieutenant looks like me it's an understandable mistake to make, I guess; it is dark out here, and that street lamp sure doesn't allow much light into the alley!"
The two stood peering through the gloom at each other, both temporarily at a loss for words until Megan spoke again, "Look, this may not be the best timing in the world, but I've got two, maybe three more trips to make to my apartment, once I've done that, what say we sit down and clear the air between us? I really don't want you getting paranoid and calling the cops!"
She saw a flicker of resolve in his eyes as he started to come back to life, and his hand went almost of its own accord to his jacket pocket.
"It won't do any good calling them, you know. They'll come here, they'll speak with me, and then they'll go away. I'm not a fugitive, and they will have no grounds to arrest me!"
"Uh... yeah... OK... but give me an hour... I need to shower and change..."
"OK..." Megan looked at her watch, "Say... seven forty-five?" and then a grin split her face, "Your place or mine?"
Harm shook his head, "Uh... mine... if you don't mind... somehow I doubt yours is ready for visitors yet?" he replied, while knowing that his reluctance to visit Megan's flat was rooted in the feeling that whatever she might tell him, he would be better able to cope with it in the familiar setting of his apartment. In his comfort zone, he told himself bitterly.
"Fine, by me," Megan nodded, "Should I bring coffee?"
"No... no... I think I can manage that!" Harm mumbled, "Now, if you'll excuse me?"
By the time Megan knocked on Harm's door at precisely seven forty-five, Ham had showered, changed, ironed a shirt and pressed his uniform pants ready for the morning. Now in a red plaid flannel shirt and faded jeans he was busy behind the kitchen island making a start on a simple meal.
At his yell of "Come on in – it's open!" Megan walked into the apartment and after looking around, saw Harm in the kitchen area and walked towards him.
As she neared the island, he waved in the general direction of the bar stools ranged around it and said, "Have a seat." His tone was more nearly that of command than invitation, but Megan figured he was so rattled that she could let it slide, and hitched herself up onto the stool and leaned forward, resting her elbows on the island's surface.
"Have you eaten?" Harm asked as the water in the large pan came to the boil.
"No, not yet," Megan answered, "but it's OK you don't have to go to any effort to..."
"I'm not." Harm replied shortly, as he dumped an extra handful of tagliatelle into the water and added a drop of olive oil and a shake or two of coarse ground black pepper. "I'm doing a basic pasta and sauce, the pasta only takes a few minutes, I made a batch of the sauce in advance, so it's only an extra couple of spoonfuls of that to warm up, and I just need to pop the bread into the oven!" he concluded, suiting his actions to his words. But to Megan's surprise, instead of using the main oven, he opened the door on a miniature table-top oven and slid a baguette onto a baking tray.
Megan shook her head, "I don't get it, you've got what looks like a professional standard range, but you're using a baby oven?"
Harm shrugged. "Fuel efficiency, it takes a couple of minutes for that electric oven to heat, but about twenty minutes for the big gas oven to warm up, so..." he shrugged in his turn as he placed a couple of plates on top of the electric oven and then slid a couple of place mats and a handful of silverware onto the island. "If you wouldn't mind?" he asked.
Megan set the simple table and nodded as Harm held up a wine bottle with an inquiring lift of his eyebrow. "Yes, thank you." she acknowledged his offer.
Harm poured two modest glasses of a rich red wine, but rather than immediately taking a sip, he turned to the smaller pan on the stove top and gave it a gentle stir.
"M'mm... smells good!" Megan said appreciatively as the sauce's aroma caught her nostrils.
Harm merely grunted in reply, as he used a slotted server to lift a few strands of pasta from the boiling water and gingerly bit on one strand.
"OK..." he commented, as he turned the burners off and emptied the pasta to drain in a colander. The plates were rescued from the top of the small oven and pasta and sauce was soon served, just as, with impeccable timing, the electric oven's clock beeped to let them know that the bread was done.
Harm tore the baguette in two, and the unmistakable smell of garlic and herb butter set Megan's mouth to watering. "M'mm... this good!" she said enthusiastically as she took a forkful of sauce coated pasta, "What's in it?"
"Oh, a basic red wine, tomato, garlic, bell peppers and mushroom sauce. It's no big thing," Harm replied, surreptitiously studying his guest as she ate. He hadn't been mistaken, even in the dimly lit alley. She didn't just resemble Loren Singer, she was the fractious Lieutenant's mirror image. He nearly said so, but at the last second bit his tongue, he wanted answers from her, like how she was still alive, and why she wasn't in a Federal Penitentiary somewhere, serving a very long sentence for an attempted murder for hire.
He determined to wait until they had finished eating, while Megan was waiting for the storm of questions that she knew was about to break above her head. She hadn't really thought about renewing her acquaintance with Harmon Rabb. If she'd thought about him at all it was only to suppose that in the way things stood in the military, he would have moved on to a new duty station while she had been out of his orbit.
As the silence grew longer, so the tension in the room rose palpably, until at last as they chased the few remaining scraps of their meal around their plates Harm suggested, "Why don't we got and sit in a comfortable chair and we can talk about the elephant."
"Sounds good to me," Megan replied as she laid her knife and fork neatly on her plate.
"Good!" Harm indicated his battered leather couch and the two arm-chairs, "Go ahead make yourself comfortable, and I'll put the coffee on!"
Megan didn't have too long to wait until Harm joined her, she in one of the armchairs and he on the couch. He put the tray off coffee, creamer and sugar on the occasional table and poured two mugs, "Help yourself!" he grunted with a nod in the direction of bowl and jug.
"No, this is fine as it is," Megan assured him and picked up her coffee in both hands, taking a sip as she stared across the rim of her mug at Harm only to discover that he was sitting back against the squabs, his eyes half-closed as he studied her.
"So..." he said at last, as the seconds threatened to stretch into minutes, "How come you're not dead?"
Megan shrugged, "Basically because the agent who shot me was a lousy shot. I'm told he fired three times. One bullet missed completely, the other passed between my arm and my body, just scoring the flesh over my ribs, but the third... That was the one that did the damage. It penetrated my shoulder blade and went through my left lung, fortunately missing anything of major importance en-route. The doctors say I was lucky. A quarter of an inch one way, and it would have gone through my heart, a quarter of an inch the other and it would have severed my aorta. It was spectacularly messy I'm told, and the para medics and the surgeons at GW had their work cut out, but they did the trick, and they saved my life."
"But... I saw you die!" Harm protested, "you went totally limp, and you stopped breathing, your eyes..." he stopped, unable or unwilling to recreate that scene for a second time that evening.
"Yeah, I went into shock, the doctors say, and went catatonic. Probably a good thing; if I'd stayed conscious, the adrenalin would have had my heart pumping harder and I would probably have bled out!"
"Yeah... it looked like you did!" Harm agreed fervently, remembering his previous set of dress whites that had had to be burned and the struggle he'd had – unsuccessful at that – to try and get the Navy to reimburse him for the replacement set.
Harm sat in thought for a good twenty, maybe thirty seconds, although to date he'd been lucky and while he had been shot at, he hadn't been hit, but he knew that bullet wounds were unpredictable. The slightest wound could have dire effects as the bullet ricocheted off bone and skidded through tissue, while what looked like it might be a life threatening wound actually caused very little damage.
"OK... that explains how come you're still walking around. But how come you're still walking around free?"
"Ah... this where the tale becomes interesting," Megan said drily, "I can't tell you the full story. It's highly classified and 'need to know', or so I am told, so I guess if I did tell you, then I'd have to kill you!"
From anyone else that comment might have been a joke, but remembering their last encounter, Harm felt a shiver run up his spine. "Well tell me what you can, just enough so that I don't, despite your assurances, call the cops anyway!"
Meg nodded, "Fair enough. After all, you did cook me dinner!" She paused for a moment or two to collect her thoughts, and then took a deep breath before she continued. "When I woke up in hospital, I was cuffed to the bed and there was a whole damned alphabet soup of different agencies wanting to talk to me, Metro PD, Secret Service, FBI, CIA, NCIS, DIA, NSA, IRS, ATF, State Department... hell if you can think of a government agency it was probably there. I was told I was facing a possibility of life inside unless I 'co-operated', so I sang like a canary. Don't look at me like that; I wasn't in the business for any ideological reason, it was the money that made it work for me!"
Megan took a sip of her coffee. "Anyway, there must have been some pretty high-level horse-trading going on, because all of a sudden, one day, I was left alone apart from two very smartly suited gentlemen who offered me the chance to stay out jail entirely, if I would agree to work for their particular set of letters for three years." She shrugged, "naturally I agreed. The prospect of three years being told what to do, and heavily supervised while I did it, balanced against thirty, maybe forty years of hard time in a Federal Prison? Hell yes, I accepted. I had to negotiate for a living wage, but they held the whip hand, and so, after my surgery and some months of rehab and physical therapy I went to work for... another government agency, and as a result there are now half a dozen very unpleasant people who are no longer a threat to the USA."
Megan saw the flicker of distaste cross Harm's face. "You know what I am, Harm. I'm not apologising for that! But I'm out of that business now... It's time I set my sights on another goal! And the people I took out were responsible for any number of attacks on US assets. But after what happened in September..." a cloud crossed both their faces, "the agency's focus shifted. My primary focus had been in Latin America, and a blonde female isn't going to blend too well into the background in the Middle East. So, my sponsors in the organisation fell out of favour, and I was told that my services were no longer required and that my continued liberty and well being were conditional on my keeping my mouth shut."
"Your continued well being?" Harm queried a frown on his face.
"Yeah, I was left with the distinct impression that if I opened my mouth too far or too much, then somebody in my former business would be despatched to... uh... despatch me." Megan said with a sick smile, "So you see, I have to be very careful about what I say and to whom."
Harm nodded, "Have you got a dollar on you?" he asked.
"Uh... yeah... sure," Megan answered.
"Give it to me!" Harem demanded.
Megan dug her hand into her hip pocket and pulled out a dog-eared leather wallet. She fished a One Dollar Bill out from its interior and leaning forward proffered it to Harm, "OK, but why?" she asked.
Harm took the bill between two of his fingers, "Well, you've just put me on retainer. Anything you say to me, or have said to me this evening, is now covered by Attorney/Client Privilege. There's nobody in the USA can force me to repeat what you tell me!"
Megan nodded in appreciation, a hint of a twinkle appearing in her eye, "Tricky!" she said approvingly.
"Yeah, well us lawyers..." Harm shrugged, and picking up the coffee pot held it above Megan's mug.
"No. No more for me thank you... your coffee's a mite stronger than I usually drink it and I already suspect I'm going to have trouble getting to sleep tonight!"
Harm nodded and replaced the coffee pot on the tray. "Just a couple of more questions... Why did you decide to come back here. Back to this building, I mean?"
"Well, it is my apartment!" Megan said, "I've kept up the rent all the time I've been gone, a lot of my stuff's still here, and when I lost my job, I also lost my comfortable government housing," that bit was added with a huge dollop of sarcasm, "and I don't know if you've noticed, but it's December and it's a little too cold to be spending the nights on the street!"
"Oh... OK..." Harm looked as if he couldn't quite believe that the woman sitting opposite him and had paid years of rent without living in the property. He suspected some other reason for her sudden return and also suspected that the unidentified government agency for whom she had been working was up to it's spooky ears in it. His profitless thoughts were interrupted.
"Can I ask you a question?" Megan asked.
"Sure, go ahead," Harm shrugged.
"Now that you've seen me in full light, do I still resemble the Lieutenant whom you thought I was?"
Megan's remarkable likeness to Loren Singer had been preying on Harm's mind for most of the evening, and now he gave voice to those thoughts, "No, now I can see you properly, there isn't just a resemblance, you are almost identical. You could be twins!"
Megan gasped, and the blood rushed from her face.
"What? What is it?" Harm demanded urgently, thoughts of anaphylactic shock racing through his mind as he levered himself out of the couch's embrace.
"I... I am!" Megan gasped, her eyes suddenly huge.
"You am... uh...you are what?" Harm asked, sinking back into his seat as some colour returned to Megan's face.
"I am a twin!" she told him.
"What?!" Harm exclaimed, although given the similarities between the two women, this latest revelation should have come as no surprise.
"Um... yeah... I've got a twin sister... somewhere... in the Navy, possibly?"
"Possibly!" Harm agreed, "Although we can't just decide that on the basis that you look identical!"
"Not just look identical, Harm," Megan objected, "How well do you know this Lieutenant?"
"Well we... uh... work in the same office, and she's been there about... two years, I guess... maybe a little longer..."
"So after seeing her every working day for two years, and admitting that the light was poor outside, you still thought when you saw me that you were seeing her?"
"M'mm... yeah... " Harm seemed to pull himself together, even going so far as to give his head a brief shake. He stood and crossed to his desk and returned carrying a legal pad and a couple of pencils. "Now you said you had a twin 'somewhere' as if you didn't know where she was?"
"Yeah... our parents split up when we were very young... I don't really remember my mother or my sister at all... so I suppose we were about three years old. I don't know exactly what happened, all I had was my father's version of events. According to him, my mother took off with my sister and left me behind. There was no word from her that I can remember until I was about nearly fourteen when divorce papers arrived for dad to sign, and that was when I learned what I know of the full story. Until then I had always assumed the woman who shared my dad's life was my mom." Megan took a ruminative sip of her coffee, "God know how she found us, to send the papers, we were always moving from one oil field to another, or to a possible future oil field. Dad was a geologist, and spent his time freelancing; consulting for one or another of the major oil companies, and even some mining companies. We went everywhere! Hell, we even ended up spending sixteen months in Peru... or maybe it was Paraguay... looking at mining prospects..." she shrugged her shoulders.
"How old were you then?" Harm asked mildly, getting caught up, despite himself, in the narrative as his pencil flew over the paper.
"Oh, about eight or nine years old, I think," Megan replied, "Dad didn't want to to take me with him – it was too difficult and too dangerous – and he was going to leave me with his brother. He'd done that a couple of times before, but my uncle had been posted to Okinawa and couldn't take me..."
"You uncle was in the service?" Harm asked. He didn't know why he should be, but he was surprised at that piece of information.
"Yeah, he was an officer, a captain or major, I think, in the Marine Corps."
"Megan, is O'Hara your real name?" Harm asked, as a light bulb began to glow in the dim recesses of his mind.
"Of course it is!" Megan said indignantly, "I know I didn't know you for more than a few days, but I was beginning to look on you as a friend, and I don't lie to my friends!"
"Apart from lying about being a journalist!" Harm interjected.
"Ah... yeah... well... that was... that was a part of my working life... my cover story," Megan said defensively, reddening slightly. "Don't tell me that you haven't had to misrepresent yourself at one time or another! But that would have been 'in the line of duty' I suppose, and that would make it perfectly acceptable!" she finished bitterly.
"Well, yeah, it does make a difference..." Harm countered, "I wasn't hiding my identity in order to commit a crime, but in order to uncover one!"
"So... that makes it all right then, does it? The ends justifies the means? God, you men are such hypocrites!" Megan began to pull herself out of the depths of the arm chair.
"What are you doing?" Harm asked.
"This is pointless! I'm going back to my own apartment!"
"No! Uh... I mean please don't go!" Harm added hastily as he saw Megan's face assume a closed, pinched expression; one with which he was all too familiar.
"Why not?" She snapped.
"Firstly because I'm sorry; I didn't mean to be judgmental. And secondly because there are a couple of mysteries to be solved here, and that's what I do!"
"What mysteries? All you've said so far is that there's a woman with whom you work looks like me!"
"That's true. But based on what you've just told me about your father, there's something else niggling at the back of my mind."
"Like what?" Megan challenged him.
"I'm not certain enough to say right now... I would want to raise any false expectations only to have everything fall apart when I discover my initial suspicions were off base and way out in left field! I'd need more information than I have right now to even begin to confirm my admittedly vague suspicions!"
The earnest quality of Harm's voice got through to the angry young woman, and with a sniff she sank back into her chair. "What sort of information?"
"Well... do you know where and when you were born?"
"Yeah, I caught sight of the birth certificate one time – that's how I know I had... have, I suppose... a twin. But, Cincinnati, Ohio, July twenty-fifth nineteen seventy one."
"OK... and your father's name? Do you know your mother's name?"
"Yeah... well sort of, my dad was Timothy Michael O'Hara, and my mother's name was Kathleen, or Katherine... I'm not quite sure, but I do know it began with a 'K'."
"I don't suppose you know her maiden name? Or which name she went by when she left your father?"
Megan pursed her lips and shook her head, "Nope, I only made the mistake of asking about her once, after the divorce papers arrived and my dad got so mad... I didn't get a real look at the papers, but maybe... I think her name might have been Skinner, or something like that...You're asking an awful lot of questions, why?"
"Because I need to check facts and sift the evidence, before I can make an informed judgement!"
"Always the lawyer, hey?" Meg quipped, but not unkindly.
"Yeah, hey, it's what I do!" Harm agreed with the hint of a grin. "You've given me quite a bit to work on, so unless you can... or... what was your uncle's name, the one in the service?"
"Oh, that was my uncle Matthew... but I've lost touch with him... well I've lost touch with everyone from my childhood. It was kind of necessary... you know?"
"No, I don't, but I guess it makes sense." Harm absently nodded his agreement, his mind whirling, 'Matthew O'Hara, an officer in the USMC? Nah... it couldn't be, could it...? Oh God,' he told himself, 'if I'm right in what I'm beginning to think, then not only is Megan Lieutenant Singer's sister, but they're both Mac's cousins! Holy crap!'
"Uh... Harm, are you all right?" Megan asked, as the silence became prolonged for a second time that evening.
"Uh... yeah... well, kind of... You know when you toss a pebble into a pond, how the ripples spread out in concentric circles and if the pebble is big enough, then they seem to go on and on for ever?"
"Yeah..."
"Well, if I'm right, what you've told me this evening isn't just a pebble, it's a damned great boulder!"
"What do you mean?" Megan asked sitting forward on the edge of her chair.
"Like I said, I can't say anything now, in case I'm wrong... but I'll get some checking done and get back to you as soon as I can." He consulted the notes he'd been taking and said, "Oh, just one last question – for this session anyway – was your uncle married, and if so, do you know his wife's name?"
"Uh... yeah, he was married and my aunt's name was Constance..." a shadow passed over Megan's face, "she died while they were in Okinawa, I guess that's one of the reasons, the main reason, I guess, why we lost contact..."
Harm nodded again, and once more lapsed into silence.
"Harm?" Megan asked
"Oh... sorry... I was just thinking about the ramifications, and possible consequences of what you've just told me..."
"It could have that much of an impact?" Megan said, surprised.
"Yeah, like I told you, a monster great boulder tossed into a pond! Look, I've got a whole heap of thinking to do, and plus I really need to get ready for court tomorrow, so... I know it's going to sound ungracious but..."
"No... you're right.. and I've still got a mess of unpacking to do. Thanks for dinner... and the company. That's something I've been a bit short on just recently," Megan said as she stood, "No, don't get up, I'll see myself out and... I was a bit reluctant at first, but your 'mysteries' are beginning to get me hooked, so you'll keep me up to date?"
"Of course!" Harm said, getting to his feet and despite her protest walking with her to the door. "As soon as I learn anything substantial, I'll be knocking on your door!"
"Good! I look forward to it" Megan smiled and to Harm's surprise, the smile held what he was almost certain was a marked degree of shyness in it.
"Oh... one last thing," Harm said as Megan stepped through the door. "Although I probably don't have to remind you, this isn't exactly the safest neighbourhood in DC, so make sure you're properly secured – doors and windows – before you settle down for the night!"
"No, I hadn't forgotten, but thank you!" Megan said.
Harm waited until she took the stairway down the one floor and then closed and dropped the deadlock on his own door. For a moment he stood rubbing his chin in an indecisive manner, and then with a sigh, he crossed to his desk, and picking up the 'phone he dialled a very familiar number, and stood fretting impatiently while he waited for an answer.
"Hello?"
"Hey Mac, it's Harm... I need to talk with you before we go into court tomorrow. Can you make it in say half an hour early, about zero six-thirty?"
"Aw... is the poor little squid hurting after the big bad marine wiped the floor with his ass today?"
"Huh? Oh... no... no... What I want to talk about has absolutely nothing to do with Lieutenant Anderson!"
"H'mm... well what is it then?"
"Mac I really can't talk abut this over the 'phone. It really needs to be a face to face..."
"Sounds intriguing!" Mac said lightly.
"Well, I hope you think so if this whole thing shapes the way I think it might!" Harm replied wearily.
"Oh... " Mac's voice lost its teasing tone as she continued, "Sounds heavy, should I come over now?"
"No... don't do that... I've still got the kitchen to square away, and then I've got a lot of notes to put in order, and then I've got to figure out how I'm going to do some floor wiping with a big bad marine's six in the morning!"
"That's not going to happen!" Mac said determinedly.
"O yeah? We'll see!"
"In your dreams, Flyboy!"
"I've told you before, Mac, you don't want to be in my dreams! See you at six thirty?"
"Six thirty, Harm... oh, and ... sweet dreams!"
0629 hours EST, the next morning
"Good morning sir!" Lance Corporal Somers greeted him as he signed in at the JAG CP, "Colonel MacKenzie arrived about five minutes ago, and said she'd be in the galley in Ops, sir!"
"Thank you, Lance Corporal," Harm smiled as he signed in and clipped his building pass and ID to his lapel. He headed for the elevator, the smile still on his lips, as he he considered that his plan was working well – so far! He had known that Mac would arrive before him, and being who she was, he also knew that she'd make a beeline for the galley and for the coffee pot, so if he'd timed it right, and he was pretty sure he had, the coffee would be just about made by the time he arrived in Ops.
He had and it was. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee assailed his nostrils the minute he walked into the bull pen. With his trademark cocky grin in place, he dropped his cover and brief case on an unoccupied desk and made straight for the galley.
"'Morning, Mac," he greeted his partner and adversary.
"Good morning," she returned his greeting and gently slid a mug of steaming black liquid towards him. "I see that fresh coffee is about the only thing that your sense of timing has down pat!"
"Hey, what can I say?" he grinned, ignoring the glare that he received in response. "Shall we adjourn to my office," he suggested, "this place is just a little too public for what I want to talk with you about."
Her curiosity firing on all cylinders, Mac asked, "What's this all about, Harm?"
"My office!" he repeated and strode back out across the bull pen.
Mac shot an angry glare at him which bounced unseen off his broad shoulders, and with sigh of aggravation, she picked up her coffee and followed him.
Harm juggled cup, cover and brief case and opening the door he placed all three on his desk and turning said, take a seat, please, Mac."
Mac did so, placing her coffee on the front edge of his desk, and cocked her head attentively.
Harm settled back in his chair, now that he was face to face with her, he wasn't quite sure how to begin. But a deep breath later, he squared his shoulders and took the bull by the horns, "Mac, how much do you know about your uncle Matt's family?"
"What do you mean?" she asked in turn, a puzzled expression creasing her forehead.
"Well, I assume you knew his wife?"
"Oh... only slightly, she died while they were overseas, I was around thirteen, maybe fourteen when she died. I know it wasn't that long before my mother walked out on Dad and me" Mac offered a bitter smile, "She died in Okinawa; that place seems like it's bad luck for our family!"
Harm nodded in sympathy, "Do you know... of course you do!" He corrected himself, "What was your aunt's name?"
"She was Aunt Connie... so I suppose Constance..." Mac's face took on a troubled expression. "What's this all about, Harm?"
"I'm not quite sure, Mac. Something, or rather, an unexpected someone, whom I... and I'm sure you, thought was dead has suddenly reappeared. We... uh... we had quite a long talk last night, and she told me some things that need checking out. Some of her story seems to be classified, and then she put me on retainer as her attorney, you know what that means: everything she told me is covered by Attorney/Client Privilege. I'm not sure how much I can trust her, so what little she has told me, I'm checking out. Now," he continued without giving Mac a chance to respond, "I know your uncle Matt had a sister – your mother – did he have any other siblings, that you know of?"
"Uh..." Mac thought for a moment or two, "Yeah, there was a younger brother, Tim. He wasn't around much, he was something to do with mining, and I think I only ever met him once, maybe twice. Then when mom ran out on us, we lost what little contact we had. Dad wouldn't have anything to do with her family. Even distanced Uncle Matt from me for a while, four years, in fact. But you didn't answer me! What's going on, and who is this mysterious 'she' that's got you firing off all these questions.
"Mac, do you remember Princess Alexi?"
"Yeah... from about five years ago... just after Valentine's wasn't it?"
"Yeah. The assassin who tried to shoot her was taken out by the Secret Service, and we were told she'd died. Hell, I was there. I watched her die!" Harm exclaimed, still not quite able to believe that Megan was back among the living, and free from jail. "Well, she didn't die. She's moved back into her old apartment, the floor below mine."
"Yeah, OK... but what's that got to do with me and Uncle Matt?" Mac demanded.
"I never did tell you the name she was using at the time, did I?" Harm mused. "Well, turns out she was using her own name. So, if she's telling me the truth, her name is Megan O'Hara, and she claims to be the daughter of Tim and Kathleen or Katherine O'Hara, which if her story checks out would mean that she's your cousin..."
Mac went pale and shot to her feet, "That's not funny,Harm!" she gritted out between her teeth. "I know you were tired yesterday, and that I took advantage of that, but trying to mess with my head with something like this is... is... despicable and... and unworthy of you!"
Harm spread his hands placatingly, "Mac, Mac, believe me, I am not doing this to try and mess with you. This is kosher I promise you – at least as kosher as it can be until I can check the facts. I'm just trying to give you a heads up here!"
Mac shook her head, "Harm, even if this woman is who you claim is who she says she is, why isn't she in prison for attempted murder?" she asked in bewildered tone.
"That's where the story becomes murky," Harm said, "According to her, she was co-opted, under penalty of life without parole, into a government agency that reckoned her talents would be useful, but now she's no longer useful, so she's been cut loose."
"What agency?" Mac challenged.
"Classified and need to know, apparently," Harm said with a wry grimace, "but we've both heard those sorts of words before..."
"Webb!" Mac spat put.
"Exactly." Harm agreed, "And she did say that State was one of the agencies waiting to interview her when she pulled through her surgery."
"For State read CIA?" Mac queried.
"I reckon." Harm nodded.
Mac pursed her lips, "Well... I seem to have a slightly better rapport Webb than you do..."
"Yeah, see if you can get anything out of him. In the meantime, I'm going to get Gunny to do some checking on his network before he ships out!"
Mac drained her coffee mug and stood, smoothing the horizontal creases in her skirt as she did so. "Well, you've given me a bit to think about, Harm, but I'm going to have to put it on the back-burner until after the verdict! See you in court, counsellor!"
"Oh... you will that. You will indeed!" Harm said quietly as he watched her walk away, and then, "Damn!" Once again she had left her empty coffee mug on his desk!
xxxxx-xxxxx-xxxxx-xxxxx-xxxxx
"How the hell did you pull that off?" Mac asked in an aggrieved tone, as the MPs led Lieutenant Anderson out of the court room to start a six year sentence before he was dismissed from the service.
"Ah... I gave you fair warning!" Harm grinned. "I told you last night that I was going to use your marine green six as a mop for the court room floor!"
"Squids!" Mac snorted as she stalked down the hall way, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor, leaving Harm behind, a grin, a true, aviator's cocky grin spread across his face.
Whistling 'Anchors Aweigh' as he crossed the bull pen, he drew answering grins from Harriet Sims and the enlisted on the floor, but a fulminating, albeit brief glare from the Lieutenant Colonel of Marines as she turned on her heel, stormed into her office and slammed the door behind her.
"Pushing buttons, again, Commander?" his CO's voice, coming from behind him, was mildly reproving.
"No sir!" Harm answered quickly, as he spun around to face Admiral Chegwidden. "It's just that the Colonel, for some reason known only unto her, expected to get an acquittal for Lieutenant Anderson, not the six years and dismissal he actually got!"
"Good to see you back in the game, Commander!" Chegwidden congratulated his junior officer, "but a tee'd off Marine is not something I want to see too often at JAG, so try not to rub her nose in it..." he paused for a second or two, "too much!"
"Aye, aye, sir!" Harm replied enthusiastically, coming up to a full brace.
Chegwidden allowed himself the merest hint of a grin, "Carry on, Commander, you did all right today!"
Harm grinned, paused and about-faced, Chegwidden's "You did all right," was about as much praise that any of his attorneys was likely to get from the crusty former SeAL.
Still with the grin, but minus the whistle, Harm continued towards his intended destination, one of the smaller offices at the far end of the bull pen. Nodding in gratification as he spotted his intended target at her desk, he rapped smartly on the door frame.
Lieutenant Loren Singer looked up from the case file from which she'd been taking notes, and having identified her visitor, hastily rose to her feet, "Yes, sir?" she inquired formally.
"Can you spare a few moments, Lieutenant?"
"Of course, sir, please come in and take a seat!" she answered calmly enough but seething inwardly. She did have the time, but she didn't have the inclination, although she had protested her innocence over the matter of the mishap report that had found its way into the Bitch Colonel's car, she had the feeling that the Commander didn't believe her, and it irked her that he didn't. She may have been ambitious, scheming, conniving even, ruthless and pushy, but as she had told him on that occasion, she was neither a thief nor a liar.
She waited until Harm had settled himself in one of her visitors' chairs, taking a legal pad out of his brief case as he did so, before she re-took her seat, and with an air of helpfulness, she asked, "What can I do for you, Commander?"
Harm regarded her with some suspicion. He was conflicted over the way he felt about her. For all her faults, she had the makings of a fine attorney, she had a dagger keen mind, a retentive memory and a remarkable flair for argument, she was certainly goal oriented, but she needed to take care that she didn't become target fixated. But more, much more than that, she needed to completely rethink her approach to personal skills. Furthermore, as prickly as she could be, he would need to handle this situation carefully, very carefully.
"Lieutenant, I am in the middle of an investigation, which may or may not involve you – only on the periphery, you are not the focus of the investigation, I assure you!" he added as he saw the alarmed expression that leaped to her face.
"As a result, I do have some questions for you, but they do not concern you as a Lieutenant in the Navy, but are more to do with your life pre-Navy."
This time Harm could see the walls going up, and the shutters closing. "My life before I joined the Navy is nobody's business but my own!" she declared, and then as Harm's eyebrows started to rise she hastily added, "With respect, sir!"
"Lieutenant, I am well aware how zealously you guard your privacy, and I really wish that I didn't have to pry into your life. But unfortunately, this investigation that I'm in the middle of, has ramifications that I, as yet, cannot see the end of. It may even touch on national security. So... it is classified, and on a need to know basis." He shrugged "I wish I could tell you more, but..." he let his voice trail away and spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness.
Loren Singer regarded him expressionlessly. As far as she knew, Harmon Rabb had never lied to her. He might have kept the odd item of information from her, but he had never out and out lied to her. With an inward sigh, she accepted that if she wanted him to trust her, then she would have to trust him too.
"Go ahead then, sir!" she said resignedly.
"Before I do, I am well aware that I could get quite a few of the answers I need from your SRB, but I'd rather come to you than have you suspect me of digging around behind your back." He tried the effect of a smile, "As I said, you are not the focus of the investigation." He waited for a response, but the aggravating Lieutenant merely sat there, her hands folded on the desk in front of her in an attitude of demure anticipation.
Fighting down the sense of irritation which rose in him so easily when he dealt with Lieutenant Singer, Harm first asked the questions that he knew could be verified from her SRB, "What is the date of your birth, Lieutenant?"
"July twenty-sixth, seventy one, sir!"
Harm blinked, and re-checked his notes, "Are you sure of that?" he asked.
"Of course I am, sir!" Loren threw him a withering look. "Cincinnati, Ohio, July twenty sixth, seventy one, at zero, zero forty one hours, sir!"
"Ah... early hours of the morning! That explains that!" Harm muttered
"Pardon, sir?"
"Oh... oh... no... nothing Lieutenant, it was just that I was expecting to hear July twenty-fifth!"
Loren Singer knitted her brow in a puzzled frown, "I don't understand, sir." she complained.
"And I can't tell you anything, just yet, Lieutenant. Please bear with me for a little while!"
Loren let her face drop into a dissatisfied pout, "Very well, sir!"
"What can you tell me of your early childhood?"
"Nothing much..." Loren's voice became cold and distant, and to Harm's eyes it looked like her eyes were also focussing on something a long way off, or a long time ago. "For as far back as I can remember there was just my mom and me... at first we moved around a lot. I went to elementary schools in Ohio, Michigan, Indiana, Kentucky, Pennsylvania, and then there was a string of 'uncles'. Some stayed for a time, others just for a night or two... Until Uncle Petey arrived. He stayed... oh, he stayed a long time..."
"What about your father?" Harm asked gently, having picked up on a hint of something painful in the Lieutenant's past, and not wanting to rip open old, healed scars, if such scars ever really healed.
Loren shrugged, "I never knew him... I always figured that mom was a single mom... she went years carefully clipping coupons out of newspapers to get twenty cents off here, a quarter off there..." she shrugged. "I didn't know any better, until I was about fourteen, when mom and Uncle Petey decided to get married, and it turned out that mom was already married, and had to get a divorce."
"Thank you, Lieutenant," Harm said, "Just a couple more questions... did your mother have any other family that you knew of?"
"No... no family at all, until I heard about the need for the divorce."
"Did your mother say whether or not if her husband – former husband – was your father?"
"No... I just assumed he was. I don't know why; after all, she went from 'uncle' to 'uncle' easily enough!" Loren said bitterly.
Harm winced, "Last question, Lieutenant, what name did your mother go by?"
"Oh..." for once the surprise on Loren's face was open and honest, "By her own name, Kathleen Singer!"
Harm made one more note on his legal pad, and stood, Loren following suit, "Thank you for your time, Lieutenant! You have been a great help and once I get this sorted out, I'll bring you as much up to speed as I can!"
A still puzzled and intensely curious Loren Singer, could only stand and say, "Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!"
