BURN NOTICE - O CAPTAIN, MY CAPTAIN
Author: TexasJAGAz
Rating: PG
Classification: Action/ Adventure
Spoilers: None that I'm aware of
Summary: Michael learns one his military contacts is dead and helps his co-worker catch the bad guys. This story occurs before Michael found out who burned him. Detective Paxton is in this one but she's playing a different role….
The characters in this story are the property of Matthew Nix, Flying Glass of Milk and Fuse Entertainment Productions, USA Network, and NBCUniversal Entertainment – this story is for non-profit entertainment of Burn Notice fans only. No copyright infringement is intended or implied.
My name is Michael Westen. I used to be a spy. Until: 'We got a burn notice on you, you're blacklisted.'
When you're burned, you've got nothing: no cash, no credit, no job history. You're stuck in whatever city they decide to dump you in:
'Where am I?'
'Miami'
You do whatever work comes your way ...
You have to rely on anyone who's still talking to you; A trigger-happy ex-girlfriend:
'Should we shoot them?'
An old friend who used to inform on you to the FBI:
'You knows spies…buncha bitchy little girls...'
Family too:
'Hey, is that your mom again?'
…if you're desperate:
'Someone needs your help, Michael...'
Bottom line; As long as your burned…you're not going anywhere…
'Miami in the summertime is hot and oppressive; you get the occasional stray thundershower at sometimes the most inconvenient time of day or night, and sometimes things blow in on those storms….'
Scene at night - spectacular lightning show can be seen in the distance and rumble of thunder can be heard along with the crashing of the surf. A body washes up on shore – he's wearing a Marine uniform, and he's been shot.
A summer afternoon in Miami – Michael is sitting at his kitchen table/workbench looking through a copy of his dossier, trying to figure out where the lies end and the truth begins. As he turns the page, there is a knock at the door.
He goes to open it and there stands a female Marine.
"2nd Lieutenant Gloria Price, USMC"
"Looking for Someone"
"I'm sorry I already gave Toys for Tots something, thanks though, for stopping by-" he starts to shut the door, she pushes her hand against it and wedges her foot in the open doorway.
The Marine junior officer peers past Michael trying to see inside his apartment. "Michael Westen? I was told I could find Mr. Westen here…"
'When uniformed military officers come calling at your front door and ask for you by name, it's usually not a social visit'
Michael quickly looks the Marine up and down; the second 2nd Lieutenant bars means she's fresh out OCS and this is her first assignment; crisp uniform, so she's definitely not a vet or someone playing a Marine, the usual ribbons for someone of her age and rank. Fair skin, either she hasn't been here long or she uses sun block - the unscented variety. Taller than average and probably has decent hand to hand combat skills. The foot in the door indicates someone who won't take no easily and some urgency to whatever she's doing.
Since he disdains having to cause a scene unless he has to, Michael tries to bluff his way out of the situation he's in.
"Hey, would you mind removing your foot from my doorway? Westen moved out a few days ago, and I live here now-" Michael tries to shut the door again.
She still doesn't budge. She has a determined look on her face. "Do you know where he moved to? Did he leave a forwarding address?"
Michael feigns confusion. "Look lady…uh, ma'am, uh, Lieutenant, I'd like to help, but he didn't leave any forwarding address with me – now if you don't mind, your foot?" He points impatiently to her offending foot.
"Sorry to have bothered you, sir." she says curtly as she pulls her foot out of the doorway.
She makes a crisp turn and starts to go down the steps. Michael starts to close the door, but he realizes she is alone. He doesn't recognize her from any previous encounters with military types, so he decides to try and find out what she wants.
"Hey lady…Lieutenant…." He calls out as she starts down the steps.
She stops.
"Hey look, I'm sorry, but what with my night job and all, I get kinda short tempered this time of day. I might be able to get in touch with Westen; who did you say you were?"
The Marine turns around and comes slowly back up the steps. 2nd Lieutenant Gloria Price; tell him it's important that I talk to him." That urgent look returns to her pretty face.
He nods his head to show he understands. "All right, all right; do you have an address, or phone number where you can be reached?"
She sighs; apparently this is not going at all how she thought it would. "I'm currently on leave and staying at the Hotel Strand on the beach. You can have him call room service to reach me."
He snorts. "No room number? I thought you said this was important…"
Now it was her turn to be irritated with him. "Just give him the message, please." She turns abruptly and starts to head down the stairs again.
Michael waves dismissively at her retreating figure. "Okay, okay, no need to be hostile about it. If I talk to him, I'll give him your message."
She turns back one last time. Her face betrays anxiousness and a little sadness. "Thank you. Sorry, I just need to talk to him as soon as possible…." Then she heads down the stairs and out the door into the street.
Michael quickly goes inside makes a phone call on his cell. "Hello, is this the Hotel Strand? This is Captain Washburn and I'm trying to get in touch with Lieutenant Price who's staying at your hotel. It's very important that I talk to her. Is she there?"
"Just a moment, Captain…yes, she is staying with us, shall I ring her room?"
"Yes ma'am, thank you…"
"You're welcome; please hold while I connect you…"
Michael listened to the phone ring four times. Obviously, she wasn't there.
"I'm sorry Captain Washburn, she isn't in right now; would you like to leave a message?"
"No thank you, ma'am; I'll try her later, goodbye."
Michael hangs up the phone and dials his SEAL buddy, Sam Axe.
"Sam?"
"Heya Mike, what's up?"
"Need you to check up on someone for me…"
"Sure buddy, who?"
"Had a visit from a Marine, a second Lieutenant Gloria Price; she was looking for Michael Westen. She either doesn't know me, or is part of some intel op; see what you can find out about her…"
"I'll get right on it."
'Contrary to popular belief, military personnel and spies work hand in hand with each other; they just don't like to admit it to anyone.'
Michael's cell rings.
"Yeah Sam, what do you have for me?"
"Well, there is a Marine second Lieutenant Price, and she's currently on leave, staying at the Hotel Strand-"
"On the beach," Michael impatiently finishes for him. "I know that, Sam; what else do you have on her?"
"Easy Mike, she really pushed your buttons, didn't she? Anyway, scuttlebutt has it that she's down here trying to find out the whereabouts of a buddy of hers. A Captain Kevin Marsh…ring any bells with you? Say, Mike, didn't you know a Lieutenant Marsh back in the day? Is this the same guy?"
'Captain Kevin Marsh; besides Sam, Fiona and Lisa, he was next closest person that I might have considered to be a friend. We first bumped into each other while hunting for a certain Panamanian dictator/Drug Kingpin Wannabe , we next crossed paths in Haiti; and again while hunting down Serbian death squads in Kosovo; he helped me in Afghanistan; I helped him in Iraq. Like all military contacts, we didn't really keep in constant touch, but when our paths intersected, it was like a reunion of sorts.'
"We...crossed paths a couple of times. You said Lieutenant Price is on leave..."
"Yeah, she might be conducting some kind of informal investigation…"
"Thanks Sam."
"You're welcome Mike. Hey, you want to get together for Mojitos later at El Norte?"
"I'll think about it Sam; right now I have someone to visit."
"You need backup? Wait...I got a friend that works the front desk at the Strand, she owes me a favor…"
"Can you get me her room number?"
"And anything else you might need, Mike."
"I'll just take the room number. Thanks again, Sam."
"You're welcome Mike; I'll get back to you soon…."
"Hotel Strand"
The Patio area of Hotel Strand – beautiful women, buff men, drinks, Latin music, surf, sand, all things one would find at an upper end resort motel.
'The key to getting access to a hotel room is by posing as one of the hotel staff. The problem is that most resort hotels have their staff wear a uniform. Fortunately front desk staff usually only wear business outfits and a name tag.'
Michael lifts a name tag that just happens to be left at the front desk by an inattentive staff member.
Upstairs Michael finds a maid's cart. A young Hispanic woman comes out of one of the rooms carrying a stack of dirty towels. Michael moves in.
"Senora, Lieutenant Price wanted some fresh towels, twenty minutes ago…"
"No one told me, Senor."
"Never mind," Mike hurriedly grabs a stack of clean towels. "I'll do it…"
"Si senor, lo siento."
Michael walks smartly to the door and realizes he doesn't have a way to get in. He scrunches his face in irritation. "Damn; Senora, do you have your pass card with you?"
"Si senor, una momento." She opens the door, he goes in, as she goes back to her cart, he sticks his head out in the hall
"Thank you…uh…" He acts as if he's fumbling for her name
"Marita…senor…Eckart"
"No, thank you, Marita,"
Once in the room, Michael makes a quick survey. Suitcase on stand, left open, but mostly empty. Spare uniform on hung up along with civilian clothes, message pad is clean, but Michael scrubs the page with a pencil which reveals the last note she wrote, he quickly tears the sheet off and puts it in his pocket, bathroom has the usual toiletries. No gun, no boxes of ammunition, no spare clips, a check of the television shows it was on a local channel. Bed's been made, so she's been gone at least since maid service came in to clean up. A check of the trash bins reveals nothing of importance since they've been recently emptied.
Outside two people can be heard speaking Spanish. One thanks the other. Michael moves over to the table.
The door opens and Lieutenant Price steps in, her pistol drawn, pointing it at Michael.
"What are you doing here? What did you do, follow me?"
Michael quickly raises his hands and indicates he means no harm. "Hey, now, take it easy…"
"I've already told the maid to alert the hotel detective-"
Michael shakes his head. "No, you didn't; you thanked her for telling her that the towels you had requested had been delivered by someone from the front desk. And, you got her to go on her way, because you didn't want her to be involved."
"So you know Spanish…okay, who are you?"
"I'm Michael Westen; you said were looking for me…"
She rolls her eyes in disgust. "Why didn't you just tell me that earlier?"
"If you know my situation, then you know I can't just give out my name, address and telephone number to anyone who asks for me. Now put your weapon on safety, Lieutenant, and let's talk."
Gloria slowly, reluctantly puts her weapon on safe and closes the door. Michael gestures for her to come over to the table. She does, slowly carefully.
"That's better. Now, why did you come looking for me? Is it about Captain Marsh?"
"What about Captain Marsh? Do you know where he is?" That urgency in her voice returned, but also concern. This was more than just a junior officer looking for her commanding officer.
"No, Lieutenant, I'm sorry, I don't."
"Then how do you know he's missing?"
"I'm a spy Lieutenant; I make it my business to know why people come to see me. Now, how long has Captain Marsh been missing?"
"It's been 48 hours-" she began.
"48 hours is not enough time, Lieutenant. You should know that any number of complications could have come up. Did you know what his mission was?"
"The Captain told me he was just meeting for a former Haitian Army official. He told me he would be back at Gitmo by Thursday at the latest."
Michael continued studying her while thinking about the situation. "Is NCIS involved yet?"
"No, they told me they would check with Miami-Dade PD and see if they had heard anything."
"But that's not good enough for you, is it?"
"I've worked with Captain Marsh since I got out of OCS; when he tells someone he'll be back by a Thursday, he's back by Thursday."
"Yep, that's Kevin all right…" He says more to himself than her, but she readily picks up on his words and the tone he uses.
"Did you know him that well?"
"Our paths have crossed a couple of times," Michael says hedging, repeating what he had said to Sam.
"Well, he said it almost as an afterthought, but he said that if something should happen, I should look for Michael Westen."
[end scene one]
Late afternoon in Miami; guys and girls at the beach, girls sunbathing, view pans back to the Hotel Strand.
Michael is sitting at a table with Lieutenant Price, she's having a soft drink and he's having the same.
"Can you tell me anymore about what Captain Marsh was doing here?"
Lieutenant Price takes a sip of her drink and shakes her head. "No, he didn't even want to tell me he was coming to Miami."
"Do you know the name of the Haitian Army official he was meeting?"
"Major Dubois, Marcel Dubois."
'Major Marcel Dubois; Kevin and I first ran into him during the unrest in Haiti back in the mid 90's. The Major was well known at that time for having a lot of influence…both with his military units and some of the less than desirable citizens of Port Au Prince. Major Dubois made it clear that he ran his portion of the city. Dubois, though, hadn't counted on an increased American presence and when push came to shove, he had to beat a hasty retreat.'
"And you have no idea what the meeting was about…"
"No," she shakes her head,
"Darling, there you are!"
Fiona slides into a chair between Lieutenant Price and Michael. Fiona Glenanne is all smiles as she pats Michael's leg. Michael looks a bit perturbed; Lieutenant Price is unsure what is going on.
"You didn't tell me you had a wife…"
"She's not; Lieutenant Price, this Fiona, my associate. Fiona, this is Lieutenant Price."
Fiona leans closer to Michael like any adoring wife would. She continues to smile. "Lieutenant, if you're here to place Michael under arrest, I'd reconsider."
"Wha?"
Michael gives her a pained look. "Fi…"
"Sam was worried about you, Michael. I told him I was in the neighborhood and would check on you…"
"Fi, you've got this all wrong…"
"Mr. Westen is helping me look for someone…" The female Marine explains.
This piques Fiona's interest. She's always looking for new way to make money. "Oh; a missing person? Who's missing?"
Michael is not sure this is a good idea. "Fi…"
The Lieutenant, not really knowing Fiona, becomes defensive. "That's really none of your business…"
"Well, I would like to know..." They all turn to see nicely dressed woman approaching the table.
"Lieutenant Michelle Paxton, Miami-Dade Police Department"
"Interested in Michael's Business"
Michael gives her a perfect fake smile while offering her a chair. "Lieutenant Paxton; how nice of you to join us…still keeping tabs on me, I see..."
She ignores Michael's comment and instead focuses on the Marine. "Lieutenant Price, associating with Mr. Westen and Ms. Glenanne is a bad idea..."
Fiona is clearly annoyed. Her grin is a little too tight as she looks at Detective Paxton. "She's come to us looking for someone, Detective Paxton..."
The police detective shakes her head and gives Fiona a sardonic smile. "Yes Ms. Glenanne, I know all about Captain Kevin Marsh; you see, she came to us first." She turns back to the Marine. "Lieutenant, do you know who you are talking to right now?"
Lieutenant Price says nothing.
Not getting any response, the Miami-Dade detective continues. "Fiona Glenanne is someone you do not want to be associated with. As for Mr. Westen-"
Gloria Price doesn't like this interloper even if she is with the police. "He knows Captain Marsh; they've worked together before-"
Michael looks as if he wants to bury himself. This is the last thing Lieutenant Price should have blurted out if she wanted Detective Paxton to back off.
Paxton smiles as if she just won the grand prize. "Is that so? Well, Mr. Westen is not a licensed private investigator in our city, Lieutenant, so I don't think he can provide you with very much help…"
"You'd be surprised how much we can help, Detective." Fiona replies, responding to the challenge.
The police detective laughs softly with hint of mock sadness. "Oh, I have no doubt. Ms. Glenanne, this is not a bounty hunter job. Please leave the missing person cases to the proper authorities."
As she gets up she leans over to Michael. "And Mr. Westen; I'll be watching... She puts on her sunglasses "Good afternoon, Mr. Westen, Lieutenant..."
"Always a pleasure, Detective Paxton," Fiona calls out to her as she leaves, not liking being snubbed one bit.
[end scene two]
Salsa music; Miami nightlife, people walking, talking, shopping...
Michael, Fiona, Sam, and Lieutenant Price are standing around Michael's workbench/table comparing notes. The day's search has not been fruitful. They are looking at a pile of photographs, a dossier on Major Dubois, and some notes from Fiona and Sam's contacts.
"This just isn't like him," murmurs the Lieutenant as she goes over what Fiona and Sam have found. Sam gives Michael a look, asking silently if the Lieutenant is involved with Captain Marsh.
Michael shakes his head no, but wonders.
Fiona though, ignores the two men, giving Gloria a sympathetic look. "We'll find him, Lieutenant."
Sam prompted by this, pipes up. "Uh, oh yeah...sure...we'll find him...I mean, it's kinda hard for a Marine to blend in around here..."
That makes Lieutenant Price give him an embarrassed smile. Sam smiles back.
"I'm sorry Mr. Westen; I must sound like a worried girl friend-"
"No need to apologize, Lieutenant. Friends are allowed to worry about each other...even Marines." Gloria Price smiles again.
Fiona picks up her purse. "Well, I'm going to do a little night recon, see if I can turn up anything; would you like to join me, Lieutenant?"
Lieutenant Price nods and picks up her purse "Anything is better than sitting-Sorry Mr. Westen,"
"It's all right, Lieutenant," Knowing Fiona's perchance for getting into chaotic situations, "Maybe I'd better come along..."
"You guys go out and have fun, I'd going to tune into the last of the Home Game Series for the Marlins… the Padres are in town..." Sam fiddles with his cell phone and ear buds.
As Michael, Fiona and the Lieutenant start to leave, Sam holds up his hand and waves to get their attention. "Guys, I don't think you have to go..."
As he unplugs the ear buds the news report blots out the silence. "...Miami-Dade police detective Michelle Paxton says while there are no suspects in the death of the Marine Captain, she states there are several persons of interest that the police and NCIS will be interviewing..."
Michael, Fiona, and Price gather around the tiny screen. The picture is grainy, but they can see floodlights on a beach and several policemen and NCIS Agents gathered around a shrouded form. On the right hand side of the screen is picture of Captain Kevin Marsh.
Lieutenant Price sits down hard on a chair next to Michael's table/workbench. She's in shock at the announcement. Fiona goes to her.
Michael trades a grim look with Sam. "Sorry Mike," the former SEAL says with heartfelt sympathy.
Michael sighs and looks at Lieutenant Gloria Price, a few tears have begun to roll down her cheeks. "Yeah Sam, so am I."
[end three]
'When a friend dies, you go to the funeral or wake, you may be called to say some nice things about the deceased, and then you bury or cremate them. When your friend is a soldier, it's not that simple; it's get even more complicated if the death happens under unusual circumstances. Kevin Marsh's death happened under unusual circumstances.'
Michael is sitting in a police interrogation room. Detective Paxton and a young male dark haired NCIS Agent are sitting across from him.
"The fact that you came in voluntarily doesn't help your case a bit," snapped Bart Jennings. "I know all about your falling out with the CIA, but I see that hasn't slowed you down; you've been very, very busy, haven't you?"
"Special Agent Bart Jennings, NCIS"
"Doesn't Believe Michael's Innocent"
Michael smiles disarmingly at Michelle Paxton. "Detective Paxton, am I under arrest?"
Bart pats the table to get Michael's attention, then points to himself. "Over here, mister spy; you talk to me, not to her. I'm in charge of this investigation."
Michael gives him the same smile. "Am I under arrest, Special Agent Jennings?"
"Heck no, we just want to know what you've been up to since 4:00pm Tuesday..."
"I've already told you."
Bart Jennings gives him a fake smile. "Humor me," then the smile disappears. "Tell me again."
Michael looks up as if he's mentally thumbing through a day planner. "Let's see...from 2-3pm Tuesday I was sanding my walls so I could paint them. At 3:30, I stopped and had a blueberry yogurt cup-"
Jennings looks over at Paxton and gave her a sarcastic smile. "He's a real comedian, isn't he?"
Michelle Paxton doesn't think too much of Special Agent Jennings' interview skills, but as he said, it wasn't her investigation.
"Mr. Westen, do you have anyone that can corroborate your story?" she asks and it isn't because she is playing good cop, bad cop.
Michael nods his head. "Yes, Lieutenant Price came to see me about 3:35pm on Wednesday-"
"Look Westen, cut the crap. We know that during your time with the Agency, you and Captain Marsh 'bumped' into each other several times. First in Panama, then again in Haiti, then Afghanistan and finally in Iraq. We also know that you specialized in operations in Eastern Europe and the OPEC member states. Operations that could be considered treason, at the least. Were you and Captain Marsh good friends?"
Michael smiles again. There is no way he can convince the NCIS Agent that while the locations are accurate, the accounts of his activities are a complete fiction. "You've obviously read my dossier, Special Agent, why don't you tell me?"
"I'll tell you what I think, Mr. Westen. I think you and Captain Marsh had an adversarial relationship. I think the Captain had tried on those occasions that he found you, to try and bring you in. And I think, now that you've been fired or whatever you call it, he was able to find you, and you decided rather than disappear again, you'd stop him once and for all."
Michael nods and smiles as he listens to Jennings. "Very nice, Special Agent, except for one thing... Michael's face turns stone hard.
Jennings gives him an equally hard stare. "And what's that, Mr. Westen?"
"That when I was let go, I was left without any way to protect myself or leave this area. If I kill someone, I'll immediately pop up on any and all law enforcement radar. If I even leave the shore and go for a swim, I can be brought in by Detective Paxton on suspicion of leaving the country. You don't understand my situation very well, do you, Special Agent?"
"You don't fool me, Westen; I'm going to nail you."
"Great." he says in monotone voice. Then he looks over at Detective Paxton who seems to be totally uncomfortable with this whole meeting. "If we're done here, may I leave, Detective?"
"You talk to me, Westen, not her."
Michael turns and faces Jennings. "You don't have any physical evidence on me, Special Agent. Are you charging me with anything? Because if not, I'm leaving..."
The Special Agent wasn't done with him. "Don't-"
Michael waves his hand dismissively at him. "Yeah, yeah, I know; don't leave town...but you know, it's kinda hard for me to leave town, what with my lack of employment and all..."
Jennings starts to stand up, but Detective Paxton restrains him. Paxton and Jennings watch as Michael opens the door and leaves.
As Michael is walking down the hall, Paxton catches up with him. "You need to give him more than you're giving him," she states bluntly.
Michael stops and turns to her. "I'm giving him everything I have."
Michelle Paxton gives him a cold look. "If you're holding back, if I find out that you're involved in any way, I'll nail you myself. Count on it." She stalks away from him.
"And you have a good evening too, Detective." he calls after her.
[end four]
Early afternoon. Michael, driving his Dodge Charger, pulls into a driveway. Just down the street, two NCIS Agents in a black 2008 Dodge Challenger pull over to the curb.
"This is worse than last time..." Michael grumbles as he turns off the idling motor.
Sam gives the two agents a friendly wave. "You mean the last time Miami police had you under surveillance, or when the Feds were watching you?"
Michael gives him a dirty look, and then proceeds to get out of the car. "C'mon, we've got a job to do."
Sam sighs resignedly "All right, no time like the present..." He pushes open the Charger's sticking door, and hoists himself out of the car.
Michael and Sam walk up the steps of the bright pink house to the white door and knock.
The door opens and Madeline Westen is standing there, bleached white blond hair askew, a lit cigarette sticking out of the corner of her mouth. "It's about time that you got here," His mother says without preamble.
"We had business to attend to-" Michael begins to explain before she cuts him off.
"Yes, I know, spy business; but this sink isn't going to unclog itself."
Sam and Michael exchange pained looks as they follow her to the kitchen. There they find a brown mess leaking over the edge of the sink counter.
"Did you try some drain cleaner?" Michael asks as he scrunches up his nose at the foul odor.
"Yes, and that made it worse."
Sam leans over and looks down in the sink at the soupy mess. "Did you try a plunger?"
"Yes and all I ended up with was this foul soup bubbling up out of the sink..." She leans against her kitchen table, arms crossed. "So what are you going to do about it?"
"I think we need to call a plumber, Mom." Michael says as he takes off his jacket and puts it on the back of a kitchen chair.
"You know I can't afford a plumber, Michael," She turns to Sam and leans her face close to his. "Does this mole look odd to you? I think it might be cancer..."
Michael sighs as he rolls up his sleeves trying to figure out how best to unclog this drain, "Mom, you do not have cancer..." he says in a pained voice.
"It pulsates and itches, Michael," she replies in an irritated tone. "What do you think, Sam?"
Sam looks again at the mole. "Wha, well, gee...it does look a little dark..."
"Sam, don't humor her," Michael admonishes him. "Mom, you're fine, there's nothing wrong with you."
"Well, I've made an appointment with Dr. Sanchez for Tuesday..."
Michael shakes his head. "Fine Mom," he turns to Sam, "C'mon Sam, we have to go rent a plumber's snake..."
Sam looks at Madeline and shrugs.
As they leave the house, Michael notices the NCIS car has moved a little closer. He walks past his car, heading for the Challenger. Sam hurries to catch up with him.
"Whoa, hey buddy; you aren't going to do anything rash are you?"
Michael doesn't answer; instead, he walks up the car and taps on the passenger side front window. The Agents pretend as if they don't notice. Sam taps on the driver side window.
"NCIS Agents"
"Trying to Look Like They're Not Doing Surveillance"
The Agent in the driver's seat, a slim red haired woman in her early 30's and dressed professionally in a tailored pantsuit, rolls down the window. Her partner, a young blond headed guy built like a linebacker wearing a suit that looks a little too tight for his frame, rolls down his window as well.
"Yes?" replies the female agent.
Sam leans on the window frame and gives her his best smile. "My friend wanted to tell your partner something..."
The blond kid looks at Michael, "Yeah?" somewhat antagonistically.
"We're going to rental store and get a plumber's snake so we can unclog my mother's kitchen sink," Michael says in a sarcastic voice while giving him a smile. "Want to come along?"
The two agents look at each other. "We're supposed to follow you," replies the blond kid in a confused voice.
Michael motions for him to unlock the back doors. When he does, Michael and Sam get in.
"What do you think you're doing?" asked the female agent.
"My car's been acting up, would mind driving? I'll give you directions."
[end five]
Friday evening, Michael and Sam are looking at the crime scene photos that Sam got through a favor from a friend at the police department.
"You know Mike, I didn't notice this before, but how many Marines do you know that go out at night in their uniforms?"
"He might have been attending some function, Sam..."
"I know, buddy, I'm just saying..." Sam looks again at the photo. "Hey Mike, does that shirt look a little big on Captain Marsh?"
Michael picks up the photo and looks at it more closely. He pats Sam on the arm. "Good eye, Sam."
"Well, all those years of surveillance had to eventually pay off," Sam replied glibly. "What now?"
Michael grabbed the keys to his car while still holding onto the photo. "Now we find a way to get into Captain Marsh's hotel room."
"I take it you need Fiona and I to cause a distraction while you go take a look."
"Bel Aire Regency Hotel"
"Captain Marsh's Hotel"
Saturday morning, South Beach. Michael rolls the Charger to a stop. In the car with him is Lieutenant Price. She looks uncertain about what they are about to do.
"Are you sure this will work?" she asks as she looks around. "I mean, they might have already taken his uniform..."
Michael turns to her. "I'm guessing they haven't." He turns back and nods to Sam and Fiona who are across the street. Both are wearing mirrored glasses. Fiona nods back and their car pulls out of it's parking space and into traffic. Lieutenant Price and Michael exit the car and head toward the hotel's front entrance.
'Sometimes during an police investigation, the littlest things are overlooked; an extra fingerprint on a window sill, a carelessly dropped cigarette butt, some papers mis-shuffled on a desk, or in this case, a uniform shirt a size too big'
Michael walks to the front desk and flashes his 'wallet badge' to the woman at the standing there. "Special Agent Hal Yatz, NCIS; I'm working with Lieutenant Price, here, on the-"
Suddenly there is a loud screech outside as tires are heard sliding across pavement. Almost instantaneously one hears the crunch of crumpled metal and the tinkle of broken glass hitting the ground.
In the next moment three booming voices are heard exchanging expletives.
The woman at the front desk is clearly annoyed. She grabs the desk phone and begins punching numbers.
Michael raises his mirrored glasses and looks out toward the lobby. The Marine Lieutenant does the same. "What's going on out there?" Michael asks sounding like an impatient federal investigator.
"That's the third time this week that's happened," ground out the woman. "Yes, hello, I'd like to report an accident...yes, yes, again...right out front." She looks apologetically at the Agent and the Marine. "It's room 1227, here's the pass card." She gives Michael the pass card while she continues her phone conversation.
As Lieutenant Price and Michael head to the elevator, Sam and Fiona can be heard arguing with the unseen third party. They quietly enter the elevator and Michael presses the button for the 12th floor.
"I sure hope they know what they are doing..." The Lieutenant says in worried voice.
Michael gives her a reassuring smile. "Sam and Fiona are professionals, they can handle themselves; let's just hope they buy us enough time..."
The elevator door opens silently. The air in the hallway is cool and hall is dimly lit. About halfway down the hall, stands a uniformed police officer. Yellow crime scene tape is stretched across the door.
Lieutenant Price strides smartly down the hall, extruding an air of confidence. Even Michael is impressed with this display.
"Officer," The uniformed policeman turns to greet the Marine moving toward him.
"Yes ma'am?"
She gave the young officer a no-nonsense look as she showed her wallet badge. Michael did the same. "Lieutenant Price, Hal Yatz; NCIS. We need access to the crime scene. I have a pass key."
The young officer nods and removes the crime scene tape.
Lieutenant Price slides the pass card in the lock, and opens the door.
Michael and the Marine head into the room. Like the hallway, it is cool and dimly lit. Michael does a quick survey of the room. It's your standard double bed room - chest of drawers, nightstand between the beds, large table near the balcony, television in an enclosed bureau, and a small refrigerator near the television.
Price turns to the officer who is standing the doorway. "Thank you, you may wait outside." The young officer looks undecided for a moment, then nods and heads back outside, closing the door.
Once the door is closed, Michael motions to the closet. The Lieutenant nods and opens it. Michael meanwhile quickly walks around the room, checking the obvious; notepad, messages stuck inside the program guide, notes clipped into the 'welcome guest' notebook, notes taped to the underside of the table or the inside of lampshades, evidence that any of wall sockets have been opened so that a note could be placed in there. Nothing.
He turns to Gloria Price who has just finished looking at the clothes in the closet. "His uniform is still there," she whispers. "They must think he had an extra with him..."
Michael looks at the tag and quickly notes the size of the shirt and pants.
'If you kill someone, you probably don't try to dress them afterwards...unless you're trying to discredit them or the agency they work for.
Costumes are easy to come by, standard casual dress military uniforms are a little harder. If someone goes to the trouble of finding a uniform just for that purpose they are probably not your average run-of- the-mill criminals. It usually means big money or foreign governments are involved.'
Michael looks at his watch. "We're out of time, we gotta go." They both head to the door and open it.
The young police officer turns around looking somewhat surprised.
"We're done," says the Lieutenant to the officer. "Thanks for your cooperation..."
The officer nods in acknowledgment. "You're welcome, ma'am..." He watches them as they head to the elevator.
[end six]
Michael awakes to someone harshly banging on his front door. He stumbles out of bed and grabs his Sig Sauer pistol from under it, flipping off the safety. He quickly makes his way to the door, standing on the side where he reinforced the wall.
"Who is it?" he asks holding his pistol, ready to lower it and return fire if necessary.
"Special Agent Jennings, NCIS! I want a word with you, Westen!"
Michael silently cusses the luck and stealthily crosses the room. "Just a minute..." he yells toward the door as he deposits the pistol in drawer in his sink cabinet and then crosses back to the door. Just for good measure he musses his hair before opening the door.
"Do you realize what time it is?" he replies through a sleep filled yawn. "Most people sleep in on the weekend..."
"You were down at the Bel Aire Regency yesterday, weren't you?" Jennings snaps.
Michael does his best to look confused. "I'm sorry, I-"
Jennings is obviously someone with very little patience. "You heard me, spy! I said, you were at the Bel Aire Regency! Weren't you!"
"You need to stop hounding me and focus on finding the real killer!" Michael snaps back.
For a moment the two men stare at each other. Jennings closes his eyes and lets out a breath. Then
he looks Michael in the eyes. "Okay, spy guy, just where do you think I should start?"
"Did you find anything unusual at the crime scene?"
"What is this? Law enforcement investigations 101?"
"Just answer the question; did you?"
Bart looks at the floor and then at him. "Nothing. He was shot a close range with a small caliber pistol, body temperature and lividity indicated he'd only been in the water a few hours at the most. Probably fell or was dumped overboard a boat of some sort."
"Did you notice anything about his uniform?"
"What do you mean?"
"Was it baggy, was it tight, did it look worn, did it have any rips or tears..."
"What are you-" Bart stops in mid-sentence. Something occurs to the NCIS Agent that
he hadn't thought of before.
"Dammit..." Bart pulled his hand through his hair.
Michael knew what has just occurred to him. "What?" he asks innocently.
Bart scowls at him. Obviously, Bart Jennings does not like it when he makes a mistake.
"...it did seem a little loose...we just dismissed that..."
Michael nodded. "Did you compare it to his uniform in his hotel room?"
A frustrated sigh is the answer Michael receives first. "No", he says low, under his breath, "We thought it was an extra..."
"Tell me something Special Agent Jennings, how many soldiers do you know that go out for a boat ride in their uniform? At night?"
"Not that many..." Bart seems to be gaining a new respect for the CIA 'has-been'. "I hate to admit it, but you've got a point, Westen." He turns around and starts to leave.
"Headed back to Hotel?" Michael asks. He can't resist a good dig.
The remark finds its mark. Bart whirls back toward him. "None of your..." he stops, realizing that barking at the spy really doesn't do the case any good. "Yeah, I am..." Besides Westen might have some other ideas if he runs into another dead end.
"Mind if I come along?" Michael asks.
For a moment, the NCIS Agent looks like he's going to object. Then he realizes it might be good to have Westen there with him. At the least, he can keep an eye on him. "Oh what the hell; get dressed and come on..."
[end seven]
Salsa music; girls in bikinis, guys in swimsuits or speedos, all are either walking or running down the sidewalk.
Afternoon; Fiona, Lieutenant Price and Michael are sitting on a park bench near the beach.
"So the uniform was a fake?" Gloria Price, dressed in jeans and a lacey blouse, is beginning to feel that her real education is just beginning.
Fiona, wearing her mirrored glasses again, shook her head. "No, it was an authentic uniform; just not exactly Captain Marsh's size."
Michael leans back on the bench as if stretching. "Special Agent Jennings found that the uniform in the Captain's closet did not match the one he was found wearing."
"So we can assume he was wearing civilian clothes when he went to meet Major Dubois."
"Exactly." Michael says as he nods. His mirrored glasses can't betray him watching for any unusual persons hanging around.
"I don't get it; why dress him up in uniform after shooting him? What was the point?" Gloria Price's voice is tinged with exasperation.
"To discredit him...embarrass the Corps," replies Michael as he takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes. Sometimes feigning fatigue will make a tail show himself.
"...or to make a statement," adds Fiona. "I've done it before." Gloria's look of shock at Fiona doing something so heinous prompts her to quickly add "...but not recently,"
Lieutenant Price looks back at Michael. "So what do we do now?"
Michael puts his mirrored glasses back on "Now we need to locate Major Dubois..."
A red Pontiac GTO pulls up to the curb. All three look at shiny muscle car. Sam pulls his shades down to the end of his nose as turns off the purring engine. "What? You've never seen a GTO before?" Sam says innocently.
"Another gift from one of your lady friends?" smirks Fiona as she and the others walk over, feigning interest in the car.
"I'll have you know she's a very respected lady in this community." Sam says defensively.
"And she still went out with you?" Fiona tries to sound incredulous.
Sam gives her a dirty look. "Look, I'd love to trade barbs with you, lady, but I got a line on where we can find Major Dubois..."
"Where Sam?" Michael asks before Fiona can insert another snide comment about Sam's love life.
"Club Derecho. My guy said he'll be there tonight around nine."
[end eight]
Club Derecho; bright flashing lights, beautiful women of all types in skimpy outfits and guys with lots of money and flashy clothes. The music is loud and masks all deals going down, both legal and illegal. Many people are out on the dance floor gyrating to the music- which also makes perfect cover for any nefarious deals being made.
Major Marcel Dubois, a hefty man in a dark blue open blazer and white dress shirt open at the neck, sits in a booth facing the doors to the club exit. He scans the noisy crowd while taking sips from his mixed drink. The girl that hangs on his arm is some young thing that thought he might have enough money for a good time. She makes perfect camouflage in this atmosphere.
"Major Marcel Dubois"
"The Mystery Man"
Michael gives the girl a drunken leer and falls down on the cushion next to Dubois, spilling his drink onto the girl. "My ole frin'" he says to Dubois.
"Oh my God, watch what you are doing!" she shrieks. "Do you know how much this costs?"
Oh hey hon'ey," he barely gets out. "Hi-Hi'm sohrry-
Before Michael can say anything else, she jumps up and storms away from the booth. "You moron!" she calls back to him.
As she leaves, Marcel Dubois begins laughing. It is a deep rolling laugh. "Very good, my friend. I wondered how I was going to get rid of her. She reminded me of a leech. Now what can I do for you?"
Michael clears his throat and gives former Haitian army officer a smile. "You can tell me why you were meeting with Captain Marsh last Monday night..." he says in a low voice while still pretending to be drunk.
Marcel Dubois' warm smile momentarily disappears. Michael leans over to Marcel as if telling him a secret. Marcel surreptitiously hands him a slip of paper and whispers back. "We cannot talk about it here; there are too many eyes and ears around, my friend. Meet me in the lobby of the St. Germaine in one hour."
Then he leans back and gives another deep rolling laugh. "That is very interesting, my friend, but I am not interested. Go on your way..."
Michael staggers to his feet. "Ohkay, okhay, but your missin' ouht onna grahte deahl..." Michael wobbles toward the exit noting that besides the obvious stares at his drunken movements, that there are several other people who appear to be watching Dubois.
[end nine]
Hotel St. Germaine. A standard bill-of-fair luxury hotel with pleasant lighting, ceiling fans, and the hustle and bustle of people checking in and out and moving through the lobby. There are several overstuffed chairs and couple of overstuffed couches arranged so that private conversations can be conducted.
Lieutenant Price is dressed in similar clothes to what she wore this afternoon. On her arm is Michael looking like a harried man on a vacation with his wife.
Michael and Gloria walk over to the overstuffed chairs and flop down as if exhausted. Michael looks over at the Lieutenant. "Honey," he begins in morose voice, "I told you not make the reservations through that agency..."
"I'm sorry dear," Gloria says, seeming to fit too comfortably into this role. "It's just that, oh…here he is now..."
Marcel Dubois dressed in dark business suit is all smiles. "My old friend," he says vigorously pumping Michael's hand as he stands. And you," he says turning to Gloria and giving a big hug, "I haven't seen you in years; how are you?"
"I-I'm fine," Gloria stammers, taken by surprise.
He gives both of them a winning smile. "I know you're both exhausted from your trip, but how about we get something to eat? The dining area here serves a wonderful late dinner..."
At Dubois' urging, Michael and Gloria join him in the dining area. After taking their orders, the waiter disappears into the kitchen.
"My apologies for the subterfuge." He says to both of them. "But I cannot remain in one place too long. After this, we can set up another meeting point if you like..."
"Are you in trouble?" asks Gloria.
Marcel Dubois takes a sip of his ice water and gives her a knowing smile. "Madam Lieutenant, in my line of business I am always either, getting into or out of, trouble." Ignoring the fact she is surprised that he knows she is a Marine Lieutenant, Marcel looks at Michael. "Mr. Westen knows this from our past associations together."
"What happened to Captain Marsh?" asks Michael.
"Kevin...he was trying to help me, I'm afraid." Marcel looks at both of them with sad eyes. "I told him that I could handle this myself, but being the kind of person he is, he tried to help me."
Gloria leans in close. "And what kind of person is that?"
Marcel lays his hand gently on hers. "A kind and gentle person who is always willing to help. I'm am truly sorry he got killed, madam Lieutenant."
"Do you know who killed him?" Michael asks
"A former associate of mine," Marcel says dryly. "Seems he has some friends that want me to help them..."
"Help them?" Gloria looks at him with suspicion. "Help them how?"
"Help them in acquiring what they need to do their business..."
Gloria nods, thinking she understands. "You mean weapons?"
Marcel Dubois gives her a patient smile. "Oh no, Lieutenant, nothing as mundane as that. They already have all the weapons they need..."
Michael takes a sip of his water. "You mean like papers...identity cards, bank accounts, housing..."
Marcel nods. "Yes, then you understand my predicament..."
The Marine is trying to get a handle on who might be involved. "Al-Qaeda?"
Marcel shakes his head. "No, no...nothing as flashy and newsy as that. No, these are more...executives...with needs..."
Michael nods, understanding Marcel's vague comments.
Gloria though, is still trying to get a handle on who these people might be. "Foreign operatives?"
"Not native to your country, yes." Marcel allows.
"And Kevin-" Michael and Marcel look at her for a moment. Her face colors. "I mean, Captain Marsh, he tried to stop them?"
He knows what she is doing. Trying to make sense of a seemingly senseless death. "Let's just say that he put a dent in their current plans."
"Which angered them..." Michael adds.
"Unfortunately true." Marcel says getting up from the table. "And now, I must leave; enjoy your dinner, it is on me."
"If they are looking for you, then they already know about us." Michael says standing up.
"We're as much involved as Captain Marsh was," adds Gloria as she stands as well.
Marcel considers what they have told him. "Perhaps you are right. What do you propose?"
"A joining of forces, Marcel. If we pool our efforts, we might be able to alert the local authorities to their presence."
Marcel nods. "All right, for Captain Marsh."
[end ten]
'In the spy world, you don't just run around in a trench coat and dark glasses, you might wear a business suit one day, a repairman's uniform the next day or an express mail delivery man uniform, or just jeans and a t-shirt. The truth is, you'll wear almost anything your cover requires. Even a military uniform.'
Michael is back in his loft apartment putting the finishing touches on his uniform. Gloria is helping to straighten his rows of campaign ribbons. Sam stands over to one side leaning against Michael's workbench/table, drinking a beer.
Sam puts his beer bottle down. "Mike, I want to go on record saying I don't like this. They could suspect something-"
Fiona moves from her place beside Sam and stands face to face with Michael. "Michael, I agree with Sam; do you really have to do this?"
Michael adjusts his shaded glasses. "I do Fi...for Kevin."
Sam looks down at the floor. Fiona looks at Gloria and then back at Michael. No words are needed. Fiona and Michael understand what's at stake.
Sam shakes his head and hands Michael and Gloria cell phones. "Keep these on at all times, if they're turned off-
"-you'll know we're in trouble." Michael finishes for him. "Come on, Lieutenant; let's go."
Gloria looks over at Fiona as she and Michael head for the door. "I'll bring him back, I promise," she says to Fiona.
Sam goes over to Fiona before she can say anything. "Just keep that cell phone on. We'll be able to hear everything that goes down."
The Warehouse District near the Miami ship channel. The buildings are uniformly white or gray, large and ungainly. Some show signs of rust or disuse. Michael parks his Challenger next to an old watchman's shed. Two Marines get out of the car and head inside the open gate.
As they walk along the side of the building, they come across an open side door.
"Ah, here they are now!" Marcel says in his usual sonorous tone. "Welcome my Marine friends..."
One of the gentlemen standing with Marcel looks he had to shoehorn himself into his suit. "You didn't say anything about a chica Marine being involved...!"
One of the other gentlemen, looking like a genteel Spanish aristocrat, shakes his head as if embarrassed. "What my socially unskilled friend is trying to say is that we did not expect your contact to involve anyone else."
"Captain Pulver knows that if he wants this operation to succeed, then he has to have someone with him to dot the 'i's and cross the't's." Lieutenant Price says firmly. Michael is amazed she is handling this so well.
Marcel Dubois though, is a little shaky. "Ahem, well, now you've met Captain Pulver's assistant, Lieutenant Price."
Michael assesses the gentlemen standing in front of the table. At least two are from Latin American countries, a tall thin African is most likely from Rwanda, and the fourth has Slavic features, meaning Eastern Europe. He can tell that all are armed and most likely pretty good shots. They could be arms dealers looking for new homes or money launderers looking for new financial opportunities for their 'businesses'. The overstuffed suit is most likely a bodyguard or muscle to enforce what they want.
"Did you bring what we asked for?" The Slavic says in thickly accented English.
Michael nods and puts a metal briefcase on the table in front of them. "Ya'll have to understand that this wasn't easy, now." He says with fake drawl. "After what happened to Captain Marsh, they were checkin' me over pretty good." He nods to Gloria. "That's why we're still in our uniforms; but after this is done, it's adios Corps and Caracas, here we come."
"We understand, Captain," says the aristocrat. "And we appreciate your help."
Michael nods.
Gloria looks at the assembled group. "I need each one of you to come over here and place your right index finger on this plate..."
Big guy is immediately suspicious. "What's this for?"
"Now, now, don't get all riled up. Don'tcha ya'll read the papers? This is Homeland Security stuff. We gotta take your pictures and have index finger prints, and then the Lieutenant here will make your badges right on the spot."
"Very clever," remarks the Slavic.
Michael notices the Slavic reaching into his jacket and pulling out a cell phone. After a few mumbled words, four other men appear. What had been a fairly balanced group of 3 on 4 suddenly shifts to 3 on 8.
"Well, this sure is a bigger party than I thought," he cuts a look at Marcel who appears to be equally surprised.
The aristocrat now has silenced pistol aimed at Michael's chest. "Now is not the time to get cold feet, Captain."
Michael gives him a big warm smile. "Hey, I just want to be sure I get properly compensated."
Aristocrat lowers his weapon. "Of course, of course. Now, let's get down to business, shall we?"
As Lieutenant Price begins making the ID badges, Michael realizes their original plan has gone out the window. If they let these 'gentlemen' leave this warehouse, the first time that they try to use these 'identification cards' they'll realize that they are fake. He knows Sam and Fiona are listening, but can they help now that the odds are so heavily stacked against them?
"FEDERAL AGENTS! EVERYBODY FREEZE!" Michael initially tenses, ready to fire back if necessary. Then his adrenaline soaked mind realizes it's Fiona yelling at them. "EVERYBODY STAY RIGHT WHERE YOU ARE!"
"Cover your eyes and ears!" Michael says to Gloria and Marcel in a loud whisper. Knowing Fiona the way he does, it's not hard to figure out what's going to happen next.
Before anyone can say anything. Four flash-bang grenades sail into the room and detonate, their bright white flashes destroying the vision and hearing of everyone in the room but Gloria, Marcel, and Michael who were ready for this.
As the others stumble around swearing and trying to hear what is taking place, heavily armed officers wearing Kevlar helmets and bullet-proof vests move into the room. Bart Jennings, wearing an NCIS windbreaker, makes his way to the front of this group. "Diego, we meet again...and here I thought you and your associates were staying in Tegucigalpa..." He quickly handcuffs the aristocrat.
The blond football player who has been following Michael handcuffs the big Hispanic and pulls a semi-automatic pistol from the bodyguard's jacket. He examines it for a moment and nods. "His weapon is a nine millimeter automatic, Bart."
Bart grins at the aristocrat. "Diego, I just bet that your friend is the one that killed Captain Marsh, am I right?"
Diego just glares at him.
"Ooo, death stare," quips Bart to the younger agent. "You'd better watch yourself, Cal; your face might start to melt..."
The blond football player just chuckles as he manhandles the big Hispanic toward the door.
"Say," Bart says as he looks around the room, "Where'd Lieutenant Price and the 'Captain' go?"
"Special Agent Finley took them, Bart," replied the female agent as she urges the Slavic toward the door. "Said he was under orders from Washington to handle the Marines and Major Dubois..."
Bart shakes his head. "Great. Just like Washington; horning in on our bust...C'mon, Diego, let's go..."
Outside the warehouse Sam and Fiona, still dressed in their flak jackets, hustle Michael, Lieutenant Price and Major Dubois away from the scene.
"Where'd you get the uniforms?" The junior officer asks looking at their outfits when they finally stopped moving.
Sam gives her a sideways glance. "You mean these?" he says pointing at his 'uniform'. "Oh it's just something we had left over from Halloween..."
[end eleven]
Late afternoon - Michael, Fiona, and Sam are sitting at a shaded table at an outdoor restaurant. Fiona is sipping a Kula and Cola while perusing a menu, Sam is drinking a Mojito, and Michael is drinking ice water.
Lieutenant Price walks up and the two men stand. Fiona smiles as Gloria removes her cover and takes her seat.
"What'll you have?" Sam asks her.
"Just a soft drink," Gloria says.
Sam raises his hand at a passing waiter. "Senor, por favor..."
Gloria Price looks at Michael. "I just wanted to thank you..." then she glances at Sam and Fiona. "All of you, for your help." She bites her lip and looks down. All three can see she is trying hard to suppress tears.
Michael, wearing his tinted sunglasses, looks out at the traffic passing by rather than at the Lieutenant. He doesn't want to make this any harder for Lieutenant Price than it already is. "I'm sorry about Captain Marsh."
Gloria raises her head and gives him an understanding smile. "You caught his killers...at least he can rest in peace."
Michael nods and looks out at the traffic again.
The waiter brings Gloria's soft drink and straw and then leaves.
Fiona puts down her menu. "So you're headed back to Guantanamo?"
Gloria takes a long sip on her drink. "Yes, I'm taking a Charleston prisoner flight leaving from the Miami-Dade International in a few hours. What happened to Major Dubois?"
Sam cuts a look at Michael and then at the junior officer. "He, uh, had a plane to catch. He'll testify at Diego's trial but after that he's, um, gotta disappear."
Gloria understood. Witness protection.
They sit quietly for a few minutes. Drinking and silently reflecting and what has happened over the past week and a half.
Gloria suddenly begins digging in her purse. "I really can't pay you that much..."
Michael waves his hand. "You don't have to-"
"...but I can give you this," she pulls out a memory key and hands it to Michael.
Michael looks at it for a moment and then back at her, waiting for an explanation.
"Kevin...Captain Marsh said if anything ever happened to him, I was supposed to send this to you. It's the least I can do..."
Fiona's interest is piqued. She lowers her glasses and leans over to get a better look. "A memory key? What's on it?"
Gloria shakes her head. "The Captain wouldn't tell me. He just said he wanted you to have it."
Michael pockets the jump drive. "Thank you, Lieutenant."
Gloria looks at her watch and starts to stand up. "Well, I have to get ready to leave." As the men stand again, Gloria shakes Michael and Sam's hands.
Fiona and Gloria share a hug. "We'll go shooting sometime," Fiona tells her. Gloria chuckles, making Fiona smile.
Lieutenant Price walks away and into the pedestrian traffic going by the restaurant.
Fiona notices that Michael is unusually quiet. She reaches over and touches his shoulder. "Hey, are you okay?"
Michael turns to her taking off his glasses. They share a long look. Michael gives her a brief smile as a reward for her concern. "I'm all right, Fi..."
Sam clears his throat. "How about a toast to Captain Marsh?"
Michael and Fiona nod and raise their glasses, clinking them together with Sam's.
"To Captain Marsh," Sam says.
"Captain Marsh," Michael and Fiona repeat.
After setting down their drinks, Michael gets up.
"Where are you going, buddy?" Sam says
Michael doesn't look back at either of them as he puts his glasses back on. "I'm going to take a walk on the beach..."
Fiona starts to get up and follow, but Sam holds her back. She looks at his arm that is restraining her.
"He just needs some time alone, Fiona."
"He and the Captain were very close?" she says still not entirely understanding this relationship.
"From what I understand, they saved each other's lives a couple of times. Michael's feeling survivor's guilt."
Fiona reluctantly sits back down. "If he's gone more than an hour, I'm going after him."
Michael passes several shapely ladies in bikinis as he walks on the beach. They smile and give him some suggestive glances, but he doesn't seem to notice them. They shrug their shoulders and move on down the beach toward some buff volleyball players. Michael is really not here. He's thinking about Captain Kevin Marsh. His mind is back in Panama, in Haiti, in Bosnia, in Kosovo, in Afghanistan, and in Iraq...
He continues trudging down the beach. The air is hot and humid. In the distance, thunder can be heard...
[Fini]