Later in the evening, after the club had been closed up for the night, Harm made his way up the stairs to his apartment. When he reached the door, he put his key into the lock and opened the door. He was surprised to find the lights on. He stepped warily into the apartment and looked around. Seeing no one, he reached over and opened the drawer of a small table beside the door. He withdrew a snub-nosed pistol and crept toward the living room. He hugged the wall next to the doorway, and cocked his pistol.
He pushed himself of the wall and launched through the doorway into the living room, pointing his pistol. At the sight of Mac in an armchair, he nearly dropped his gun in surprise and in horror of the realization that he had nearly shot her.
"How did you get in?" He demanded softly.
Mac got up from her seat, "I came in through the window."
"Well what are you here for?" Harm set his gun down on a coffee table, "If you have anymore information about your life that think needs to be divulged, be warned I don't think I have the strength to take anymore of them."
Mac stepped slowly towards him, a lost look on her face. "I don't know why I'm here."
Harm shook his head, "It's a little late for games. On top of that, I've grown tired of them, so if you…"
He was cut off as Mac turned sharply and walked towards the window. "Harm, I tried to stay away. If only you know what I went through, having to leave you." Her shoulders started shaking as she began to sob, "I though I'd never see you again. If only you knew how much I loved you. How much I still love you!"
In two quick strides, Harm was at her side. He grabbed Mac by the arm and turned her around, pulling her to him. In one swift motion, his lips were on hers. The two lovers found themselves instantly at home, as if they had never been apart.
Without breaking contact, Harm slowly started maneuvering Mac towards the bedroom.
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Mac lay across Harm's bare chest sighing contentedly. Harm held his hand on her shoulder.
"What are we going to do about this?" He asked.
Mac shook her head, "I don't know."
"What are we going to do about Mic?"
"I don't know. I just know I'll never have the strength to leave you again." Mac pushed herself up and looked Harm in the eye. "You have to help him Harm. Get him his exit visa. He'll leave Casablanca and continue his cause somewhere else. Then we'll be free to live together."
Harm nodded, smiling his first genuine smile since Hong Kong.
"All right, I'll see what I can do."
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Mac left soon after, leaving Harm to a sleepless night. The next night, Harm waited until Mic arrived at the club. He was alone this evening. He had left Mac to go to a meeting of the local chapter of the resistance. Once the meeting broke up, he headed for the club to meet with her. Harm watched him from his seat at the bar, as he made his way from the entrance to a table. Harm picked up his cigar from the ashtray next to him and walked over to the table, where Mic sat staring at his hands.
"I hear that you're considering leaving our sunny little vacation spot." He said.
Mic looked up from the table. "Yes," he said, "Although, the Gestapo and the French Police seem bound and determined to keep me here."
Harm let out a puff of cigar smoke and sat down. "What if I told you that I could get you passage to Spain or some other neutral territory."
At this Mic sat up straight, "I'd say you were either lying or a German spy."
Harm chuckled dryly, "I'm not a German spy, I'm not lying and I can definitely get you out of this backwater."
"How?" Mic was incredulous, "The only…" He stopped speaking as he saw Major Chegwidden and a number of German officers enter and walk over to the bar. Once he was sure they weren't looking in his direction he continued. "This country is like a steel trap, the only way to get through is…"
"With an exit visa signed by Inspector Webb of the Free French Police. And I just so happen to be in possession of an exit visa."
Mic's face fell. "Only one?"
"Yes one. Why, is that a problem."
Mic's face quickly became a mask of stoicism, "No, one will be fine."
Harm smiled inwardly, he had taken the bait. He knew that Mic couldn't resist a chance to get away, even if it meant sacrificing Mac.
"Name your price." Mic said.
"Ten thousand Francs."
Mic nodded, "I can lay hands on that much. When can I get the visa?"
"I don't have it with me," He said, " But I can get it to you tonight."
Mic was about to reply when all of a sudden, the German officers began singing a German war song. It was loud enough to be heard from the other end of the club. Mic scowled in fury. He sprang up from his chair and made several quick angry strides over to the orchestra on stage.
"Play the Marseillaise." He commanded.
The musicians looked at him in confusion.
"Play it!" Mic shouted.
The musicians did as they were told and began to play the French National Anthem, which had become the anthem of the resistance movement. Mic sang out in bright and polished baritone. This inspired the rest of the club patrons, all of them nationals of German subjugated countries, to join in.
Chegwidden slammed his schnapps down on the table and conducted the other officers, attempting to drown out this unwelcome competition. But the Germans were outnumbered and their song was quickly overpowered by the French, Czechs, Romanians, Dutch, Swedes, and Yugoslavians whose fierce patriotism had been awakened.
When the song was over, all the patrons began shouting, "Viva la France! Viva la democracie!"
A furious Major Chewidden led his men out of the now hostile club. Harm watched all of this with a feeling of amazement that he was unused to experiencing. It was rather incredible to watch a man in his element such as Brumby was now. As the German officers left, Mic let out a sigh of relief and came back to sit at the table with Harm.
"When can you get the exit visa to me?" He asked.
"There's a plane leaving at Midnight," Harm replied, "Come to my apartment an hour before. After that I'll take you to the airport and I can get you on the plane."
"It's not for me." Mic replied, "It's for Sarah. If both of us can't get out of the country, I'll be damned sure that she can. I'll bring her over at eleven."
Harm was shocked. He had misjudged Mic. He had thought that Mic cared more about the cause than he did Mac. Now that the opposite had turned out to be true, he had to rethink his plan.
Mic got up from his seat and started to leave, when he suddenly turned on his heel.
"Why are you doing this?" He asked. "You could just as easily use this visa yourself."
Harm shrugged, "A gift for your wife."
Mic nodded and left.
Once Harm was sure that Mic had left he got up from his seat and made his way over to the table sitting in the far corner of the club, where Webb-who had been watching the scene with the German officers with quiet amusement-was sitting.
Without preamble, Harm sat down and asked, "What will you give me if I give up Mic Brumby to you?"
